


Have You Ever Really Danced On The Edge?

by howellslester



Series: Disasterology [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Pierce the Veil
Genre: IM CRYIGN I DIDNT KNOW THAT WAS A TAG, M/M, Men Crying, Self-Harm, also, implied depression, someone porbably cries at some point anyway thats what this fi cis all about, whiny men. Whiny fuckin teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellslester/pseuds/howellslester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>disasterology but from dan's pov</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im crying i started this fic in 2013 and its still not finished why is that a description of everything ive ever done

Dan knows he has a problem.

Dan knows it’s not normal to be apathetic about every single thing in his life. Dan knows it’s not normal to barely feel anything, if he’s feeling anything at all. Dan knows it’s not normal to want to die.

But he does nothing about it, finds no solution, no answer, no method. Because he _doesn’t care_.

He can’t care anyway, not really, not when he’s got Leon and his mum and Chris and PJ relying on him, using him to keep themselves functioning. He has to keep going so they can, keep living so they will, choking on every breath he takes because every breath is one too much.

He does it, though. Monotony has been what’s kept the shreds of his sanity intact over the past few years, been one of his only friends. It helps, when he doesn’t have to do much, functioning on autopilot and shutting himself down. It works.  
  
“Ley,” Dan shouts, annoyed, twirling his car keys around his finger. He uses the childhood nickname when no one else is around, because it makes Leon feel safe and loved and happy and like they’re a team, a team with their own nicknames and codes and secrets.  
  
“I’m _coming_ ,” a voice from inside yells, equally annoyed, and Dan hears the faint sound of Leon demolishing the stairs with his inelegant elephant-like steps and rolls his eyes, pulling his phone out to check the time.  
  
“Could you make it a bit faster?” Dan says irritably as Leon runs up to the car breathlessly, stepping in and shutting the door. Leon scowls at him, and Dan throws him a glare as he reverses out of the driveway. “You can always get out and walk to school, y’know,” he adds, and Leon’s scowl disappears.

“You’re such a dick,” he groans, folding his arms and glowering at the trees and houses that they pass out of the window.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Dan says, slowing down to let another car out of a driveway.

“Hey, you know that house at the end of the road?” Leon says suddenly. “There’s a car in the driveway.” Dan frowns.

“The people must have moved in,” he says.

“Who d’you reckon it is?” Leon says, as Dan revs up again. Dan shrugs.

“Fuck if I know,” he says, and Leon harrumphs a bit.

“Mum said it was the boss of some huge law firm,” he says. “I don’t know whether she was lying or not.” Dan raises his eyebrows and tries not to snort. Leon has a much better relationship with their mother than he has, and he doesn’t want to sabotage that because of his own differences with her.

“Maybe,” he says. “Who knows?”   
-  
They’re actually relatively early into school, for them. The Howell brothers aren’t exactly renowned for being early, so being there a minute before the bell is a heck of an achievement. Dan waves goodbye to Leon as he jogs off – probably straight to the gym to get stoned, if Dan knows him at all – and Dan kicks the car door shut and locks it over his shoulder, ambling off into the building and glaring at everyone he passes.

He lives a relatively good life, for most people’s standards. He’s not poor – not stupidly wealthy, mind, but well-off enough – and he’s got friends who care about him and love him, friends who he cares about and loves too, a brother he’d do anything for, good grades and he’s pretty popular. He’s the most respected but feared person in the entire school, even by the teachers, and all the girls love him. He’s got everything most people want.

So why isn’t he happy?

He feels ungrateful sometimes, that he’s so miserable and empty and hollow and sad when there are people living worse lives than him, as he’s constantly reminded every time he brings up the topic of his sadness with his mother. He wonders what’s wrong with him that makes him so angry all the time, so frustrated, yet so down and broken and dejected and _wretched_.

“Hey,” PJ greets as he walks into the common room. “You’re early.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Dan says.

“Full of shit, more like,” Chris snorts, and Dan hits him upside the head lightly as he sits down.

“What’s new?” he asks.

“Jenny got off with Craig last night,” PJ says, nodding towards the two standing in the corner of the room, talking in hushed voices. Chris and Dan both turn to look, not bothering to try and make it subtle, because it’s Dan looking, and no one says anything when it’s Dan.

“Ew,” Dan says, pulling a face as he turns back to face PJ. “She’s like, two foot tall. And he’s about twenty. Did she use a stepladder?”

“Daniel Howell,” Chris says dramatically, “weird porn entrepreneur.” Dan scowls and flips him off.

“What’ve you got first?” he asks.

“History,” Chris groans, and both PJ and Dan chuckle. “You don’t understand,” he adds desperately. “ _You don’t understand_.”

“I dropped it after Year Eight,” PJ says. “I fully understand.”

“I’ve got free,” Dan says.

“Me too,” PJ says, and they share a grin. Chris scowls.

“Stop it,” he says.

“No,” says PJ simply, and the flash of unmistakable lust in Chris’ eyes is gone so quickly Dan doubts it was ever even there.  
-  
Dan and PJ had done nothing for the entirety of their free period, during which they should probably have been studying. PJ had doodled a few cartoons of Dan getting his head chopped off – Dan had changed the direction of the fringe and written ‘Leon’ instead, so PJ had changed the axes and decapitation to prancing turtles.

“Turtles,” Dan had said in disbelief, shaking his head, and PJ had grinned up at him.

“Turtles,” he’d said firmly, happily, and Dan had just left it.

Unfortunately for Dan, he actually has to go to his first lesson of the day – Geography – because he needs to get some test marks back. He’s pretty sure he got at least an A, even though he hadn’t revised at all, and he doesn’t understand why the teacher demands their presence for receiving notes and why Chris and PJ can’t just take them for him, but apparently he has to grace the teacher with his bodily presence. The only reason he really even goes is because Chris and PJ are going too.

He’s just walking down the corridor, minding his own business and holding all his folders and books (it’s easier than taking his whole bag) when someone knocks into him, making him stumble and drop all his folders and books and worksheets on the floor. Dan turns around, and comes face to face with a boy he hasn’t seen before.

He’s got black hair swept across his forehead in a fringe almost identical to Dan’s own, except it goes in the opposite direction, an apologetic expression on his face although his eyes are still glued to the timetable in his hands, blue eyes that look half-dead in a way Dan’s only too familiar with.

“Pick them up.” Dan’s voice is hostile and cold, and the kid looks up from his timetable to stare at him. Dan can feel the kid’s eyes rake over him, size him up, maybe, before he opens his mouth to reply.

“How about some fucking manners?” the kid says coolly, and the entire corridor around them, busy and bustling, freezes, turning to face Dan and the kid. Dan stares at the blue-eyed bastard for a good few moments, wondering what the fuck his deal is and why he doesn’t understand the rules of the school ( _when Dan Howell tells you to do something, you fucking do it_ ) before turning to Chris and PJ.

“Chris, PJ,” he says almost carelessly, and Chris and PJ pick the kid up, one arm each, dragging him down the corridor. Everyone around them bursts into peals of laughter that should sound melodic and triumphant but grate at Dan’s ears like nails on a blackboard. Dan turns away, not wanting to see the kid anymore, because something about him makes Dan edgy.

He knows what it is. He’s not just treating any kid like this, any old person who stands in his way. He’s doing it to someone who feels like him, and that feels almost like treason, because people like him shouldn’t be treating other people like that. He knows all too well what route that can lead them down; people like him should _stick together_.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t call Chris and PJ back or apologise to the kid. He turns his back and walks away, just like everyone’s always done to him and his problems.   
-  
Dan manages to push the blue-eyed kid out of his mind for the rest of the day, knowing Chris and PJ would probably have locked him in their store cupboard. He’s fine with that – he can’t tarnish his reputation, and the back-chatting boy threatened to do that.

He’s waiting outside for Leon to come out of his last lesson (he’s fucking late, what’s he doing?), leaning against the bonnet of his car and blowing smoke from his cigarette into the air, watching it curl and disperse in the atmosphere. He hates smoking, which is why he doesn’t do it very often. He only started because it was another way to self-destruct.

“Sorry I’m late,” Leon yells, bursting out of the door and running over to the car. Dan rolls his eyes, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out before getting into the car and waiting for Leon to do the same.

“Where were you?” Dan asks.

“Tutoring some kid,” Leon says, but it takes him a moment too long to answer. Dan says nothing, however – what Leon does is up to him, not Dan – and simply drives off.

They reach their road soon enough, and as they drive past the house Dan wonders absently if the blue-eyed kid is the one who moved in there.

“Hey,” he says, “did you see the new kid?” Leon stiffens beside him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I bumped into him on the stairs in first period. Why?”

“What’s he called?” That’s all Dan wants to know, really. It will put a name to a face, and save him the trouble of saying ‘blue-eyed kid’ all the time. He doesn’t actually care about the kid at all, obviously.

“Phil,” Leon says. “Why?”

“No reason,” Dan says casually.

“Did you meet him?” Leon asks as Dan pulls up in the driveway. Dan shrugs.

“I wouldn’t say ‘met’…” he says, and Leon sighs, knowing what that means, but doesn’t say anything, just slams his door shut and ambles into the house. Dan lingers a moment longer to lock the car, and his gaze flickers down the street to the house right at the end, wondering who the _fuck_ is wealthy enough to own and live in a house that huge.

He gets his answer coupled with a jolt of adrenaline when he sees blue-eyed kid – _Phil_ – jogging up the stairs and unlocking the door.

Shit.  
-  
Dan can’t sleep.

He’s tossed and turned for about two hours, and it’s now way past three in the morning, and he doesn’t want to run to the sleeping pills again but he doesn’t know how else he’s ever going to get any rest, ever going to get some peace of mind.

He can’t stop thinking about Phil.

It’s stupid, really, because he doesn’t even _know_ Phil – he’s only bumped into him in the corridor – and yet he’s worried about him, can’t stop thinking about him and he _doesn’t know why_. There shouldn’t be this constant presence in his mind, this fucking _what if I led him to do something stupid_ or _what if he’s just as cold and dead and empty as me_. But there is.

But he’s not just thinking about that. He’s thinking about Phil, the deadened, hollow look in his eyes, and then that leads to him thinking about Phil’s eyes, the way his onyx hair falls into it, the contrast of ice-blue against jet-black, the flash of anger in them when Dan spoke, the way they’d look if they were flashing with some other kind of emotion…

And he’s starting to get agitated and worried and fretting about this too much because what if this is like Jaime all over again, what if this is his… _abnormality_ shining through? But he’s _not_ abnormal, he’s just _not_ , and Jaime never happened.

Except Jaime _did_ happen, and Dan remembers it all too well.

He sighs and rolls over in bed, groping around on his bedside table for the phone and dialling one of the six contacts he has, and the only one he’s got on speed-dial. It’s not even one ring before he picks up.

“It’s three in the morning,” Jaime’s groggy voice groans. “This better be good.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Phil,” Dan says.

“Who’s Phil?”

“The new kid.”

“There’s a new kid?” Dan rolls his eyes.

“You’d know that if you actually _attended_ any of your lessons,” he says.

“Hypocrite.”

“Fuck you. I went to Geography today.”

“Yeah, because Mr Freeman had to give you the test back,” Jaime says. “Go on, what’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” Dan sighs, carding a hand through his hair and staring up at the darkened ceiling. “I bumped into him and then Chris and PJ…”

“You make really good first impressions,” Jaime remarks sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” Dan mumbles, but he’s smiling.

“So what’s the problem with this Phil?”

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “I just…”

“Okay,” Jaime says gently. He understands. He knows. “Have you taken any pills?”

“Don’t wanna,” Dan mumbles. He doesn’t want to be relying on the pills day in, day out, addicted and reliant and dependent. He doesn’t like it.

“Do you want me to come over?” Dan opens his mouth, the usual _no, stay where you are, it’s dark and cold and late and too far_ on his lips, but then he remembers it’s not Chris or PJ, it’s Jaime, and he can be himself and be honest with Jaime.

“Yeah,” Dan whispers, because he does.

“Okay,” says Jaime, and then the line goes dead. Dan bites his lip, holding his phone to his ear for a few more moments before letting it drop to the floor beside his bed and closing his eyes. Jaime will be here soon. The thoughts will stop, and everything will be okay.

It’s not even five minutes before there’s a tap at his window, and Dan rolls out of bed and opens the window, stepping aside to let Jaime clamber in. He’s still in his pyjamas, hair sticking up at more odd angles than usual.

“Alright?” he says, and Dan shakes his head, because he’s not really, and Jaime sighs, wrapping his arms around Dan and pulling him close. Dan closes his eyes, dropping his head onto Jaime’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Jaime says gently after a few moments, nudging Dan’s leg with his own, and Dan grumbles slightly but pulls away, trailing his hand down Jaime’s arm to his hand and pulling him over to the bed, hand in hand. They both get in, and Jaime lies behind Dan, effectively spooning him. In any other situation, Dan would feel awkward and horrible and edgy at this, being so close to someone, someone who is wrapping their arms around him and nestling their head in his neck and pulling him as close as they can.

But in this situation, with Jaime, with the one person he loves more than anyone else, it’s all okay. And he manages to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” is what Dan wakes up to, soft words as someone brushes stray strands of hair out of his face and kisses his forehead softly. “We’ve got school.”

“Fuck,” Dan groans, letting his eyes flutter open, coming face to face with Jaime and his warm brown eyes. “Don’t wanna.”

“Too bad,” Jaime says, rolling away from him and standing up. “Government wants you to.”

“Fucking hate Cameron,” Dan mumbles. “Didn’t even vote Tory.”

“You’re not old enough to vote.”

“Wouldn’t have voted Tory if I was old enough,” Dan amends, and Jaime shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” he says. “Ring me if you need me, okay?” Dan pouts – he doesn’t want Jaime to go – but nods, and Jaime sighs, ambling back over to kiss Dan’s pout away.

Dan’s so fucking glad he has Jaime in his life. Without Jaime, he wouldn’t be here today. Jaime has saved his life so many fucking times it’s become impossible to count, and far too embarrassing to do so anyway. He loves Jaime with all his heart, more than he’s ever and will ever love anyone else, but it’s purely platonic. Even with the platonic love, he’s glad Jaime kisses him and hugs him and cuddles him and acts like they’re a couple. Physical contact with Jaime makes Dan feel loved and safe and needed.

“You think you’ve got it hard? I’ve got to walk home in pyjamas,” he says, and Dan grins. He wishes he can see the looks on other people’s faces as Jaime walks past at seven a.m. in his Star Wars pyjamas.

“Your fault for coming here,” Dan says.

“Your fault for asking me to,” Jaime retorts, and Dan has to concede there.

“See you at school, yeah?” Jaime says, pressing a soft kiss to Dan’s forehead before walking to the window and climbing out. Dan nods feebly, pulling the duvet back over his face and sighing.

He wishes he didn’t have to be so secretive about his friendship with Jaime. He wishes his reputation didn’t hinder them from showing each other off, showing how much they love each other. He wishes Vic wouldn’t get in the fucking way of things, and Jaime’s eternal love for him, and he wishes he wasn’t so fucking selfish and stupid that he let all this get in the way of things. He shouldn’t care what people think, but he does. More than anything else.   
-  
He meets Chris and PJ outside school for once, letting Leon out and watching him run off in the direction of the gym with a brief wave over his shoulder.

“Alright?” Chris says, and Dan nods, because thanks to Jaime, he actually feels half-okay.

“You?” he asks, and both Chris and PJ nod. They turn to head into the building, falling into their usual formation of Chris on Dan’s left, PJ on his right, just in case they bump into anyone (which they probably won’t, because they’re already almost halfway through first period). Dan’s not really sure how it ended up being Chris and PJ who do the actual bullying (he _hates_ calling it that, but that’s what it is) and Dan who just orders them around. Maybe it’s because Dan’s the sassiest, the most threatening, the tallest, or maybe because he’s the most squeamish and weakest.

“Mexican,” Chris mutters lowly into Dan’s ear, and Dan lifts his head sharply to see Vic standing in the middle of the corridor, messing with some locker on the wall that isn’t his, because it belongs to a Year Eight.

“Good morning, Fuentes,” Dan says smoothly as they approach him. “Shouldn’t you be in lessons?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Vic shoots back, eyes narrowing. Vic hates Dan, hates everything he does and everything he stands for and everything he is.

Then again, so does Dan, so maybe they’re not all that different.

“I’m a sixth former,” Dan says airily. “Free period.” He hasn’t actually got a free period – he should be in Pyschology, but he can’t be fucked to go.

“Well, aren’t you fucking lucky,” Vic says sarcastically. Dan hates the little twat. “All those _free periods_ that make you _so_ much better than the rest of us.”

“It’s not the free periods that do that,” Dan says. “That’s just me.” He nudges PJ’s leg subtly, giving him the signal, and PJ moves forwards, closely followed by Chris, holding Vic’s arms and pulling him away. Vic knows how it goes, so he doesn’t even comment, just looking bored as Chris and PJ drag him off down the corridor. He’s probably the only person Dan doesn’t feel bad about doing it to.

Chris and PJ lock him in in record time – probably because Vic doesn’t even try and struggle anymore – and are back at his side before he knows it; and apparently just in time because as soon as they’re back flanking him _Phil_ walks around the corner of the corridor.

“Learned your lesson?” Dan asks when Phil approaches, and Phil folds his arms and stops moving, standing his ground in front of Chris, PJ and Dan.

“The lesson of you being a prick? Yeah, I learnt that the second you opened your mouth,” Phil fires back, and Chris and PJ bristle dangerously. Dan doesn’t touch them, doesn’t move, though, so they do nothing.

“You be careful,” Dan says, almost conversationally, letting a brief smirk flicker across his features. “It would be _such_ a shame if you got yourself hurt.” With that he sweeps past Phil in a dramatic manner that very much reminds him of Lord Voldemort.

“Why do you let him get away with it?” Chris asks once they’ve rounded the corner and are out of earshot, and Dan sinks onto a nearby windowsill, carding a hand through his hair as he shakes his head and shrugs helplessly.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I really don’t know.”   
-  
None of them go to their second lesson either. Chris and PJ both decline Dan’s _go, you can leave, don’t feel like you have to stay just because I am_ with their own _fuck off Dan_ and _we care, we’re worried_.

Dan really doesn’t deserve friends like them.

They spend their time in the common room, discussing Phil and bouncing ideas about his background off each other. Dan’s not sure why Chris and PJ are doing this – they say it’s because they’re _interested_ , but they’re never _this_ interested in new kids – but he doesn’t care. He kind of wants to know more about Phil, although he’s not sure why.

“My mum said his dad is some CEO of a huge law firm,” PJ says.

“Yeah, mine said that too,” Dan says. “Don’t know whether to believe her, though.” Chris opens his mouth like he’s about to say something when his phone rings, and he pulls it out.

“Josh,” he says, and Dan and PJ nod as he wanders off with an ‘alright, bro?’. They like Josh well enough – he was at their school for a few years before moving to some place in the middle of nowhere – but he was always closer to Chris than the rest of them.

“What if he actually _is_ the son of a really rich man?” PJ asks.

“What about it?” Dan says.

“That would be…weird,” PJ says absent-mindedly. “Imagine being able to buy things.”

“It’s not only rich people who are limited to buying things,” Dan reminds him. “You can too.”

“But I have no money.”

“Okay, but when you _do_ have money, you can,” Dan says.

“I never have any money.”

“Yeah, you’re like the Ron Weasley of our gang,” Dan says with a smirk, earning himself a middle finger and a slap from PJ.

“…serious?” they hear Chris say excitedly. “Thanks _so much_ , man.” He snaps his phone shut  - he’s still got some shitty old Sony Ericsson – and walks back over to them, a broad grin on his face.

“Do you guys believe in coincidences?” he says, and PJ tilts his head.

“No,” Dan says bluntly.

“Well, it depends,” PJ says thoughtfully. “I mean, it depends on the circumstances of the coincidence and the actual situation of the coincidence, whether it’s an almost unbelievable one or-“

“No one asked you, Nietzsche,” Chris scowls. “Guess what?”

“What?” PJ and Dan ask.

“Josh and Phil were at school together.”

“No way,” PJ says.

“Yeah,” Chris says, grinning. “Josh rang, said he just found out from a mate that Phil had moved to Kelkham. Asked whether he was at our school.”

“What did you say?” PJ asks.

“I said yeah, and then Josh was saying that Phil always used to hang around by himself and get beaten up by Josh’s friends and never made any effort to make friends himself,” Chris says. “He was depressive and half-suicidal, though, so I guess that’s an excuse. I found out the law firm thing, as well. Apparently his dad is Michael Lester, CEO of some really fucking huge law firm and he’s got shares in an oil company, or something. His mum’s a barrister too, and they make fuckloads of money. Phil’s one of the richest motherfuckers alive.”

“Shit,” PJ breathes, seemingly in awe. Dan just feels sick, wrong, intrusive. This is Phil’s past he’s – _they’ve_ – dug up. Phil’s past has nothing to do with his present or his future. And fuck, he was right about the…the _feelings_ Phil has.

“I know right,” Chris says gleefully. “We should go talk to him.” PJ nods, and they both turn to Dan for an executive decision.

He wants to say no, but he doesn’t want Chris and PJ to question him about it, because he doesn’t want to answer _I can’t do anything more to him, not now that he’s a person to me, now that I know about him and his life and his family_. He kind of wants to see Phil again, but he knows that if he does it’ll end badly because he hasn’t exactly made a _good_ first impression with Phil.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying, because his mind is apparently working without him wanting it to and saying _those fucking blue eyes_ , _those dead and empty and hollow and fucking beautiful blue eyes_ over and over and over to him.

Whatever. He’ll fuck things up with Phil, just like he does with everyone else.

They all heave themselves out of their chairs and over to the door, PJ lingering slightly to pack up his laptop. Leon’s at the door, waiting for them, looking stone-cold sober for once.

“Alright,” Chris says to Leon, holding his hand up for a hi-five. Leon has to jump to reach it, and he scowls at Chris, who grins back.

“Hey,” PJ says, pointing out of the window. “He’s sitting with the Mexican lot. Hang on, Vic’s there too.” Chris and Dan double back and join PJ at the window, following his finger to an unfamiliar yet sickeningly familiar black-haired head next to the other Fuentes kid. Vic is nearby, straddling Jaime and pinning his wrists to the floor, and Dan feels the familiar flash of anger at the scene. Jaime can do so much fucking better.

“Looks like we won’t have much trouble finding him, then,” Chris says.   
-  
It’s the other Fuentes kid who spots them first, muttering something out of the corner of his mouth with his gaze frozen on the four boys advancing towards the Mexican group. Vic scrambles away from Jaime, hissing something angrily that looks a lot like _what the fuck are they doing here_ and Jaime shoots Dan a look, a _fucking Christ what the fucking fuck are you fucking doing_ look. Dan ignores it.

“Philip,” Dan says, addressing Phil as they draw closer. “Hanging around with faggots now, are we?” He doesn’t know why, but seeing Vic on top of Jaime like that has made him _so fucking angry_ , fury coursing through his veins, white-hot and searing.

“If I wanted that, I’d hang around with you,” Phil shoots back, accompanying his charming sentence with a glare. Dan narrows his eyes, but for a brief moment he’s filled with panic, with _what if he knows_.

“You want to be careful,” Dan says, almost casually. “I don’t think you understand how stuff works around here.”

“I think I do,” Phil says, just as nonchalantly. “You bully innocent people and get your gang of lunatics to do the job for you.” He throws an apologetic glance at Leon, who’s hiding behind PJ, and Dan frowns. Since when are _they_ friends?

“That reminds me…” Dan says smoothly, turning to Vic. “How did you get out of that room, Vic?”

“How did he get _in_ there?” Phil asks. “What had he done?”

“Does that concern you, Phil?” Dan asks. Phil looks as if he’s considering for a moment, exaggerated to add effect.

“Yes, actually, it does,” he says. “Because he’s my friend.” Dan laughs. That’s probably the first time Phil’s said those words in his life.

“Oh, pity-friendships,” he says in a velvety voice. “So sweet.”

“Better than friendships built on fear,” Phil fires back, glancing at Chris and PJ. Dan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms so he won’t clench his fist on his thigh. It looks like a nervous gesture, and he doesn’t want to convey the wrong message.

“I’ve put up with you long enough,” he says in a bored tone, although it’s taking all his effort. “Take him away.”

“No,” Leon blurts, and Dan turns to look at him, taken aback. Maybe him and Phil _are_ friends, after all.

“What?” he asks. Leon gnaws on his lip.

“You locked him in there all of yesterday, man. Can you just…we’ve got better things to do,” he says weakly. Dan remains silent whilst he considers – what kind of a spell has Phil cast over Dan’s kid brother? – before he raises his eyebrows, his way of saying _fine, okay, but we’re discussing this later_.

“Let none say I am not merciful,” Dan says with a gracious smirk, turning back to face the Mexican kids and Phil. Phil rolls his eyes.

“Let none say you’re not full of yourself either,” he says.

“Watch it,” Dan says dangerously.

“All I want to watch right now is you leave,” Phil says. Dan raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I _am_ looking forward to tomorrow,” he says, throwing one last smirk at Phil before turning on his heel and sauntering away, knowing Chris, PJ and Leon will be following. He keeps his cool until they reach the school building and turn inside, shooing Leon away with a _Leon, we’re talking about this when we get home_ before collapsing against the wall.

“You alright?” Chris asks, worriedly. Dan shakes his head.

What the fuck is Phil _doing_ to him? He’s not even gay. He’s just…just _no_. He’s not attracted to boys, he’s attracted to girls, and nothing will change that. Especially not some stupid little boy with black hair and a good dose of attitude and beautiful empty eyes that Dan wants to fill with some kind of emotion.

“I’m so fucking turned on right now you wouldn’t even understand,” he murmurs.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan’s in no rush to get to the car on time, not really in the mood to talk to Leon. Just thinking about Leon hanging around with Phil and _Vic_ is putting a scowl on Dan’s face as he slouches through the near-empty corridors of the school, pushing open the oak door at the end of a corridor that leads outside to the car park. He can see Leon leaning on the car bonnet but doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge him, letting Leon know that he’s not best pleased and they’ll be having _words_ later.

And as if life can’t get any worse, out of the corner of his eye Dan spots a tall, black-haired someone making their way over to the car, to Leon, before hesitating when they see Dan.

 _Phil_.

Leon waves him over excitedly and it’s too late for Dan to turn back, too late for him to double back and find an excuse and head into the building, so he prays to whatever deity may be residing up there that whatever business Leon and Phil have with one another is quick and over soon. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand to be around Phil, for a multitude of reasons.

“Hey!” Leon says as Phil trudges towards them, throwing a wary glance in Dan’s direction. Dan ignores him, tapping a text to Jaime on his iPhone to block out whatever Phil and Leon are talking about.

_can my life get any worse like seriously phils everywhere wtf_

_he turns you on, doesn’t he?_

And that’s put Dan in an even worse mood, because Phil _does_ turn him on but he _shouldn’t_ , and he _doesn’t_ , because he’s a _boy_ and Dan’s not _gay_ (and he apparently uses far too many mental italics).

“…come over and play videogames with me,” is all Dan catches, but it’s enough to make him look up from his phone sharply.

“I’m shit at videogames,” Phil says, eyes flicking to Dan, as if Dan won’t notice. Dan looks back down at his phone.

“Even better,” Leon grins. “I get to feel superior for once. Come on, juts a couple of hours. We’ll take you home afterwards.” If Dan hadn’t been pissed as _fuck_ at Leon, he maybe would have smiled, because Leon really _is_ shit at videogames. But as things stand, he _is_ pissed at Leon, and he is _not_ taking Phil home afterwards. Leon can change that ‘we’ for an ‘I’.

“I really shouldn’t-“ Phil says, but Leon jerks on his hand and pulls him along to the car. “No, Leon, I-“ but Leon ignores him.

“I’m _not_ taking him with us,” Dan says, looking up from his phone again to throw Phil a dirty look. Phil throws him a half-glare back, eyes flaming. It’s _so fucking hot_.

No, it’s not.

“Good, because I don’t want to be with you,” Phil snarls, wrenching his hand out of Leon’s grip. Leon rolls his eyes at the two of them.

“Can you two stop acting like seven year olds?” he demands. “Fuck, Dan, I’m not forcing him to have sex with you or anything. Just take him with us; we’ll stay out of your way.”

And maybe Dan would have been able to resist if Leon hadn’t used those particular words.

“Get in,” he says, with a curt nod, pocketing his phone and climbing in himself.

Well. Fuck.  
-  
Nobody speaks on the journey home, even Leon. Everyone simply stares stonily out of their respective windows until they pull up at Dan and Leon’s house.

Dan doesn’t mention that he knows where Phil lives, no. That would be considered _creepy_.

“Out,” Dan says in a clipped tone, and both the younger boys tumble inelegantly out of the car. Dan locks the car and stalks into the house without a single glance back. He’s so fucking screwed.

He ignores the ‘hello’ his mother throws his way and walks up to his room, not letting the set-jawed and flinty-faced façade drop until he’s into his bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply.

“You’ve only known him a day,” a mild voice says, and Dan sighs again, not wanting to open his eyes because he knows what he’ll see. Sure enough, when he does he sees his spiky-haired ex-boyfriend sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Fuck off,” Dan growls, but the words have no heat behind them because it’s fucking true and it’s terrifying him. He’s not _gay_ , first of all, but if he were…he has only known Phil a day and a half.

“Come on, Dan,” Jaime says, and Dan sighs again but gives up, pushing himself off the door to flop down on his bed, closing his eyes again and wishing everything would fucking go away and just end.

“Why are you even here?” Dan mumbles, looking for any change of subject.

“Because you can’t handle anything alone.”

“I can,” Dan protests, but when Jaime’s silent for a moment too long he opens his eyes and sees Jaime with a palm full of blades. Dan’s blades.

“Dan,” Jaime says softly, curling his fingers over the blades. Dan closes his eyes again, not wanting to look at Jaime. He hates this, hates that he’s hurting Jaime through hurting himself, but really, it’s the only way he feels better without Jaime, and Jaime can’t always be there for him. And he understands that because it’s not fair if Jaime _would_ be there all the time – Jaime has his own problems, his own priorities – but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Because he _is_ sorry – the scars on his wrist are suddenly burning white-hot with the guilt coursing through his veins – but that doesn’t mean he’s sorry enough to stop.

“It’s okay,” Jaime says with a sigh, and there’s a soft clinking as he puts the blades back on Dan’s bedside table. “I’m not going to stop you, if it keeps you alive. But you know what I want, and what I’d rather you do.” And Dan does know, Dan understands, Dan doesn’t _want_ to be fucked up and scarred and disgusting, but he can’t just call Jaime every time he feels the urge. Because Jaime would end up just living with him, looking after him, and Jaime’s not his fucking carer. Jaime’s got a life, and Dan shouldn’t be fucking it up just because he himself doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Dan mumbles.

“Fuck, Dan, stop it,” Jaime says, louder than before, because he knows what’s going through Dan’s mind. “You know I don’t give a shit. I’d drop anything, okay?” And that makes the guilt even stronger, burning as it seeps from his heart into his arteries and scorches him.

“You shouldn’t,” Dan says, and he means it, because he’s not worth it. He’s not worth Jaime’s love, not worth Jaime’s dedication, not worth anything.

“I don’t care what you think,” Jaime says, lying down next to Dan and staring up at the ceiling. “I love you, and nothing’s going to change that. Even if you don’t love yourself.” Dan swallows audibly in the silence of the room, his heartbeat thumping in his ears, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Jaime – for a while, at least.

“What happened earlier then?” he asks quietly. Dan winces – he hardly wants to relive the moment he’d had to rush away from some fucking black-haired, blue-eyed piece of shit because he was getting hard for _no reason whatsoever_ – but sighs, because it’s Jaime and Jaime’s not going to judge him.

Jaime’s just going to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.

 _You don’t want to hear it because it’s the truth_ , that irritating voice in Dan’s mind says smugly, and that makes Dan want to say it even less. It’s _not_ the truth, fuck.

“You know what happened,” he says. Jaime chuckles slightly.

“I forgot how much sassiness and arguments turn you on,” he says, almost as if he’s reminiscing. Dan scowls.

“Not my fault,” he says. “You were hot, too.”

“You still find me hot.”

“No I don’t.”

“Lies.”

“I don’t lie.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I told you, I don’t lie.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Lies.”

“If you say that one more fucking time…,” Dan warns, sitting up and looking down at Jaime with a glare. Jaime grins up at him.

“What’re you gonna do?” he says challengingly. Dan raises an eyebrow, swinging one leg over so he’s straddling Jaime (that way Jaime can’t escape).

“I’ll castrate you,” he promises.

“Liar,” Jaime breathes, letting the word roll off his tongue with a shit-eating grin, and that’s _it_. Dan growls at him and leans down, pressing their lips together roughly as he pulls Jaime’s head back, knotting his hands in the soft black spikes as he tangles their tongues together.

The kiss isn’t exactly _short_ , but it’s not gay because it’s Jaime, and Jaime’s the exception to the rule. There’s something about having a soulmate that makes you throw all the rules out of the window.

“Fuck you,” Jaime gasps breathlessly when they finally break apart, and Dan nips at his neck and traces a few patterns along the tanned skin delicately just for that little extra bit of revenge, because he knows how much it turns Jaime on and he loves turning Jaime on; not because he likes it when Jaime’s turned on, but because it’s fucking funny.

“You already did, remember?” Dan replies in a murmur, kissing along Jaime’s jaw. Jaime whimpers a little.

“Yeah, and you were- _dios_ \- a shit fuck.”

“Don’t you fucking turn your Spanish on me,” Dan warns.

“Don’t fucking _kiss me like tha_ -“

“Don’t _aggravate m_ -“

“Don’t try and-“

“Oh, shut up,” Dan says exasperatedly, kissing Jaime again, softer and more chaste this time (although to be honest, anything’s more chaste than that last kiss). He sits back after a moment, staring down with a grin at Jaime, with his hair ruffled and panting and with a beautiful hickey blossoming just under his collar. Dan fucking hopes Vic sees that.

“You’re the actual worst,” Jaime groans. “I didn’t even _do anything_.”

“You so did,” Dan says accusingly, getting off Jaime and lying down next to him, nosing into his neck. Jaime shivers.

“Don’t touch me,” Jaime snaps, but he rolls over so he’s facing Dan, noses almost touching, and slings an arm around Dan’s waist.

“You’re touching _me_ ,” Dan points out, and Jaime sticks his tongue out at him. “Childish.”

“When in Rome,” Jaime shoots back, and that just makes Dan want to kiss him again. He really needs to get over his argument/sass/whatever-it-is kink.

They lie there for a while, until their breath evens out a little more, and until Dan opens his eyes to meet Jaime’s warm brown ones, grinning at him because fuck, he loves Jaime, and he feels alright again.

“Leon brought Phil over,” Dan says after a while, and Jaime frowns.

“What for?” Dan rolls his eyes.

“Not everything’s about sex, you idiot,” he says, and Jaime’s frown clears. “Not everyone’s like you.”

“Says the boy who mounted me no more than ten minutes ago.”

“Says the boy who didn’t protest and got hard.”

“Fuck you,” Jaime mumbles, which means Dan’s won and he can smirk at Jaime. “Is that why you’re so horny today? You wouldn’t usually start making out with me when you’re in a mood like that.” Dan opens his mouth to retort – _fuck you, that’s not the reason_ – but then he thinks about it a little more.

He hadn’t exactly been in the mood for kissing, or touching, or any kind of human contact, when he’d walked into his room. Fuck, if Jaime hadn’t been there, tonight would have been a completely different story, another tale on his wrist.

But when Jaime had started talking about Phil, and how Phil had backchatted Dan today… _that’s_ when things had flipped, when Dan had started getting that haze of _need to kiss need to touch need to fuck_ that’s repeated almost like a mantra in his mind.

So maybe Phil _was_ the reason. But only in a roundabout way, because after that Jaime had backchatted him, right, and that had been the _actual_ reason. Which is understandable, because it’s Jaime.

“Dunno,” Dan mumbles eventually, because Jaime’ll know if he’s lying but he doesn’t want to admit it either. Admitting things makes them true.

Jaime opens his mouth to reply, but then the distant voices that had been Leon and Phil get a little bit louder, a little bit closer.

“Anyway,” Leon says slightly awkwardly. “Do you need a lift?”

“No,” Phil’s voice floats up, and Dan finds himself wondering what Phil would sound like when he moans. “I live just down the road.”

And Dan doesn’t know why, but he’s rolling off the bed and strolling out of his bedroom, peering over the banister and grinning down at the two of them.

“Down the road?” he says, faking interest, as if he didn’t know. “Posh boy, right? Son of the CEO of some law firm and a barrister. Multi-millionaire parents.” Phil throws Dan the filthiest glare he’s seen in a long time, but it only serves to broaden Dan’s grin.

“Fuck you,” he hisses up at Dan, and Dan smirks.

“Interesting,” he says, and pulls himself back and into his bedroom.

“What’s up with that all about?” Jaime asks, and Dan snorts. Jaime scowls.

“I can’t believe I just made out with an illiterate person,” he says, and Jaime’s scowl deepens.

“Come at me,” he says, and Dan rolls back onto the bed, kissing him to let him know he didn’t mean it.

“So?” Jaime prompts. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know,” Dan says honestly, because he doesn’t. Jaime sighs.

“Dan, you can’t…it’s been like, _two days_ ,” he says. “What’s up with you? What is it about him?”

“His eyes,” Dan says. “Have you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Jaime sounds utterly confused.

“Dead. Dead like mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dan has a relatively eventful morning.

Leon races off as soon as Dan’s pulled up in the school parking lot without so much as a backwards glance, and Dan just watches him with a half-fond half-concerned smile as he runs off to the gym. Dan’s never condoned Leon drinking, or taking drugs, or doing anything remotely harmful, because he fucking cares about Leon and doesn’t want him to end up like Dan.

But in the end, it’s Leon who chooses how he lives, and all Dan can do is try and guide him the right way.

“Alright?” Chris nods when Dan walks into the common room. The girl who had been sitting at their table scribbling something hastily in her English book (homework, Dan presumes) looks up in horror, throwing all her stuff into her bag and migrating to another table before Dan sits down. It makes Dan feel simultaneously powerful and like the most atrocious human being in the world, that he has that effect on people. He doesn’t _want_ to be like this. Most of the time he wishes he were invisible.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dan nods, sliding into a hard plastic chair. He hates these chairs. “You?”

“PJ’s not,” Chris says with a grin, and PJ looks up from a revision guide to scowl at them.

“Fuck off, Chris,” he snaps, which just serves to widen Chris’ grin. Dan shakes his head at the two of them.

“You might as well make out now,” he remarks, and the grin quickly slips off Chris’ face, morphing rapidly into a deep scowl. Dan holds his hands up defensively.

“Just sayin’,” he says. Chris looks like he’s about to say something but then the bell rings, and the common room starts emptying.

“Not going History?” Dan asks Chris, who shakes his head.

“Can you blame him?” PJ snorts. Chris flips him off.

“If you’re only going to look up from that to make a sarky comment, at least make it a _good_ sarky comment,” he says. PJ scowls.

“I hate Law,” he says decisively, snapping the hefty revision guide in front of him shut and slamming it on the desk, making both Dan and Chris jump. “I hate everything, as a matter of fact. Can we take a walk?” Chris and Dan nod, both knowing what _taking a walk_ actually means.

The three of them stand up, leaving their bags and shit (no one would _dare_ steal from Dan Howell and his friends) and wander off down the corridor, glaring at Year Sevens and Nines and causing them to scurry away hurriedly.

“I need the toilet,” PJ says when they round the corner of the deserted corridor that leads to the toilets. “Coming?” Dan pulls a face.

“Since when are we girls?” he says. PJ throws him a pointed look.

“I’ll come,” Chris says, and Dan permits himself a small smirk. _So gay_.

The two of them waltz off down the corridor to the toilets, leaving Dan hanging around awkwardly by himself. He doesn’t want to hang in the toilet corridor, though, because it fucking _stinks_ , so he shoves his hands in his pockets and ambles off into the language corridor, wondering whether he’ll see Phil in any lessons.

No. Wondering if he’ll see _Jaime_.

When he pulls open the huge oak doors that lead into the corridor, though, a wholly different view greets him. Sitting on the polished wooden floor with his back to the flagstone wall is none other than Vic Fuentes.

“Fuentes,” Dan says, his blood running cold and beginning to bubble with anger simultaneously. There’s something about Vic that drives him _fucking insane_. And not in the good way, either.

Maybe it’s the fact that Jaime preferred Vic to Dan. As much as Dan tries to hide it, it fucking hurts, and it always will. Or maybe it’s that Vic’s just not fucking good enough for Jaime, treats him like shit, reduces him to tears, breaks him into a million tiny splinters, and Dan’s the one who picks him up and pieces him back together. And Jaime _still_ prefers Vic.

Or maybe it’s just that Vic’s everything Dan wishes he could be, and it frustrates him because he wants to be good, wants to be a nice person, wants to be _liked_ rather than feared, wants to be a _human fucking being_ rather than _that’s Dan Howell you don’t mess with him_.

“Get it over with,” Vic says tiredly, and that, that’s not normal. That’s not what usually happens in this scenario.

And much as Dan hates Vic, much as Vic makes him want to buy chainsaws and use them on tiny puppies and kittens, Dan can’t bear people being sad, empty, lonely. He knows how it feels to be alone, and he doesn’t want anyone else to feel like that.

“You alright?” he asks tentatively, not letting the harsh tone drop completely, because if this is an act or a prank he wants to be able to pull himself back into Normal Dan. Vic sighs, tipping his head back and letting his eyes flutter shut.

“I hate French,” he says faintly. Dan hovers awkwardly at a distance, still half-expecting that lanky brother of Vic’s to come galloping out of a nearby classroom and hollering at Dan (not that Dan won’t be able to take him, obviously, just that it’s kind of inconvenient).

“What’s up?” Dan asks, taking a few steps closer.

“I don’t know,” Vic says. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t,” Dan says honestly. He _doesn’t_ care. He just doesn’t want Vic to be alone.

“So fuck off then.”

“And leave you like this?”

“I can deal with it. I’m good at distracting myself.”

“Sure you are,” Dan says, the phrase setting off alarm bells in his mind. “Come on, what’s happened?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Vic says. “Nothing’s even happened.”

“So you’re sitting in the language corridor for fun?” Dan says sceptically. Vic opens one eye to glare at Dan.

“Yeah,” he says. “Bundles of fun, this. You should try it.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Dan says.

“Oh right, I forgot, Mr High-And-Mighty Sixth Former can’t be doing with his limbs making contact with the filthy ground that only peasants reside on,” Vic says sarcastically. A little bit more white-hot hatred courses through Dan’s veins.

“Yep,” Dan says irritably. “That’s it.”

“Well, if you just came to make fun of me, you can fuck right off,” Vic growls.

“I’ve not made fun of you at all,” Dan says hotly, because that’s _unfair_. He’s done _nothing_.

“Whatever,” Vic mumbles. Dan scowls.

“I’ve got a good mind to punch you right now,” he says.

“Do it,” Vic says. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Maybe I will,” Dan mutters angrily. “Well, since you’re so fucking fine on the ground down there, I’ll leave you to it, yeah?” He turns on his heel and stalks back towards the oak doors he’d come through, heart thumping, repeating _don’t hurt him don’t hurt him don’t hurt him_ in his mind to stop himself from spinning back around and just fucking punching Vic, just once.

“Dan,” he hears Vic say just as he wrenches the oak doors open, and he spins around to face Vic with a glare and gritted teeth.

“What?” he spits angrily.

“Sorry,” Vic says softly, and even from this distance Dan can see the glint of remorse in Vic’s eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just holds Vic’s gaze for a minute, nods curtly, then leaves. But it’s enough.

Maybe it’s a little too much.  
-  
“Where’s Leon?” are the first words out of PJ’s mouth half an hour after the bell for lunch rings, craning his neck to look around into the corridor outside the common room. Dan shrugs, frowning. Leon’s usually always here on time, unless he has History (the only subject he ever bothers turning up to).

“Sitting with Vic’s gang,” Chris says nonchalantly, nodding out of the window he’s leaning against with his phone in his hand. Dan almost chokes on his next breath.

“ _What_?” he asks. _Vic’s_ gang? Fuck, Leon’s been taught to hate Vic from an early age. He wouldn’t sit with them, the fucking traitor.

Or would he?

“Let me see,” Dan demands, scraping his chair back and stalking over to the window. Sure enough, Leon’s familiar brown hair is there amongst Vic’s unpleasantly familiar mane, Phil’s onyx hair and Jaime’s spiky black hair.

“Shit,” PJ breathes.

“We’re going down,” Dan says, because that is _not on_. They can’t steal his own _kid brother_ from him. He’s all for Leon making his own choices, but sometimes Leon needs to take part in Dan’s battles too. Dan fights all of Leon’s for him, so it’s only fair.

Chris and PJ are flanking him immediately as he stalks out of the common room, scattering a group of Year Tens outside and stomping angrily down the stairs, causing Miss Robertson to drop all her books. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t apologise, just carries on, trying to let his face relax a little so he doesn’t look so fucking angry. He can’t let Vic know that he’s got a one-up on Dan, but this is low, even for him.

Why didn’t Jaime stop him?

Fuck, Dan doesn’t want to think about Vic and Jaime in rapid succession – it does nothing to help the harsh set of his jaw, the clenching of his teeth, the flames in his eyes. He needs to calm down.

He doesn’t really, though, just continues to stride towards the group of Mexicans-plus-two-Caucasians until he’s near enough for them to see. They don’t, though, because they’re engrossed in some kind of banter going on between Vic and his brother. Dan manages to get close enough to intrude on their conversation before a single one of them notices, and that makes him hate Vic a little bit more for no fucking reason.

“…if Vic carries on like that,” Fuentes Number Two says, glowering at Vic.

“Carries on like what?” Dan says, and his voice is surprisingly smooth for the raging fury that’s coursing through his veins, fuelling his words and his mind and his muscles.

“None of your business,” Vic snaps, before looking shocked, as if he can’t believe he’s just said that. Whatever. He can keep up the innocent pretence if he wants; no one’s fooled.

“Watch that pretty little mouth of yours, Vic,” Dan replies silkily. “You want to be careful what comes out of it.” By that he means Vic’s slip-up earlier, his bared emotions, his apology to Dan. Showing emotions is a dangerous thing, and Vic should be careful how he handles it. “Or goes in…” Dan adds as almost an afterthought, throwing a bored glance at Jaime, because he’s fucking angry at Jaime too, even though he’s not sure why. Both of them look horrified, for different reasons – Vic because he probably hasn’t told his friends he’s gay, and Jaime because Dan’s jibe means there’s something _really_ wrong.

“What do you want?” Phil asks in a long-suffering tone.

“I want to know what you did to get my kid brother to hang out with you,” Dan says, crossing his arms.

“We treated him like a person,” Phil says shortly. “Is that all? You can leave now.” Dan almost shakes his head at Phil’s attitude.

“Oh, that’s not all,” he finds himself saying. “I’d like to speak to you, Phil.” What the fuck? No, he doesn’t – he has nothing to fucking say to Phil, Christ. How does he get himself out of this one?

His gaze automatically flicks to Jaime, because that’s what he does in crises, but of course Jaime’s still fucking mad.

“My tongue digs all my own graves,” is all he mouths at Dan, and Dan doesn’t even acknowledge it, flicking his eyes straight back over to Phil.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say here,” Phil says defiantly. Dan raises an eyebrow, panicking internally. _Fuck_. He’s got nothing to say – at least, nothing that he can say in front of _Vic fucking Fuentes_.

“I don’t think what I have to say concerns anyone else here, nor should it,” he says. “I know where we can go.”

“Why would I go anywhere with you?” Phil demands. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Dan allows with a grin. “Chris, PJ, stay here. I’ll be back before you know it.” Chris and PJ nod, but there’s a brief look of surprise that flits through both of their eyes – Dan doesn’t usually deal with people alone. Phil throws a helpless look around his circle; Vic and Leon shrug, Fuentes Two and Other Mexican shake their heads with wide eyes and Jaime, Jaime’s not looking because he’s still glaring at Dan. Dan feels a little bit bad, because yeah, Jaime’s his best friend and his soulmate and he fucking made out with Jaime yesterday, but whatever. If he’s going to hang around with people like Vic, he can fucking suck it.

“Fine,” Phil says eventually, standing up and brushing grass off his shirt.

“I may be crazy, but you’re the one following the crazy man,” Dan says as he strides away towards the building, loud enough for everyone to hear. He can almost hear Phil’s scowl as he hangs behind, probably not wanting to get too close to Dan in case Dan hurts him.

“Where are we going?” Phil asks suspiciously as they draw closer to the school building. Everyone’s meant to be in lessons now – lunch finished a few minutes ago – so all the corridors are deserted. Dan steps inside, holding the door open for Phil, and then immediately cursing himself for doing so. This is Phil, not Chris or PJ or Jaime.

Phil doesn’t walk through the door anyway. He waits for Dan to let it swing shut with a meaningful look; he doesn’t want to get too close to Dan. And Dan can understand that. Maybe on a normal day that would get to him, but today he’s just _too fucking angry_ for anything else to really register. So he lets the door swing shut with a roll of his eyes, and Phil opens it immediately and follows Dan up endless winding staircases and panelled corridors until they’re in a room that only Dan, Chris and PJ really know about.

Dan’s not sure what he’s doing here. Dan’s not sure what he’s doing at all. He’s got Phil alone in a room, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s petrified, if he’s honest; Dan might _seem_ like he has the upper hand, but he hasn’t. He’s frightened, he’s alone, he’s vulnerable – right now, he’s everything he despises.

“What’s this? Why are we here? Why am _I_ here?” Phil demands, and he sounds just as frightened and panicked and worried as Dan’s feeling. That makes Dan feel a little bit better, a little more comforted, and he grins.

“So, Phil,” he says casually, leaning against the wall. “I spoke to some buddies from your old school.” Phil blanches, and Dan takes a note of it. Clearly, he needs to do some more digging. He still has Josh’s number, he thinks.

“And?” he says, but that note of panic is definitely pronounced this time.

“And they seemed to all think there was something _very_ interesting about your…sexuality,” Dan says, grasping for anything he can to strike up a conversation or give Phil some reason for bringing him here. Phil breathes a sigh of relief.

“Is that all?” he says. “Yeah, I’m bisexual. Wow, call the newspapers, boy is sexually attracted to girls _and_ boys. It’ll be a cover story. Top scoop. Can I go now?”

“I don’t think so,” Dan says, smirking, and Phil frowns.

“Why? You got what you came for,” he says, sounding confused.

“I don’t think I got it,” Dan says.

“What do you want?” And Dan doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what the _fuck_ he’s doing, but he’s moving closer to Phil, still smirking, and Phil’s backing away but he suddenly hits the wall with a loud crack of bone against stone, and he looks petrified and intrigued and confused and fuck, the emotions are flitting across his face so fast Dan can’t even read them anymore.

Dan does nothing. He stands there, so close that he can feel Phil’s body heat and his breath, erratic and hitching slightly every time Dan leans in closer, but he doesn’t do anything.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to though. Lord, no. He wants to lean forwards and press his lips to Phil’s, run his hands up Phil’s back under his shirt, grind into him, leave little kisses and licks and nips along the skin of Phil’s neck.

And that’s when the panic settles in, a heavy weight in his stomach, a fluttery feeling in his arteries and a whole bunch of _fucking shit I’m not fucking gay what the fuck is all this fucking shit going through my mind what the fuck._

He backs away with a soft, huffed laugh, so as not to let Phil know there’s something wrong.

“Interesting,” he says, only trusting his voice to stay steady for one word, and then he walks out of the room, keeping his fists clenched to keep himself in one piece until he reaches another deserted classroom.

When he does, he wanders in and falls apart, collapsing onto the floor and holding his head in his hands and crying, sobbing for what feels like hours and hours and hours because _he’s not fucking gay_ and this is all so confusing, so overwhelming, and he’s potentially destroyed a relationship with Jaime and he hates himself, fucking _hates himself_.


	5. Chapter 5

Nothing worth noting happens over the next two days.

That’s mainly because Dan spends both of them tucked up in bed, refusing to get out and go to school no matter who tries to persuade him. He can’t face Phil, not after what he did. He just can’t.

Jaime turns up on Friday evening, straight after school, dumping his bag on the floor and rolling into bed with Dan.

“What’s up, burrito?” he asks, trying to pry some of the duvet out from where Dan has rolled it tightly around his body. Dan shakes his head vehemently. He feels safe in his burrito duvet. “Aw, come on, I’m cold. Cuddle me.” Jaime’s pout is too irresistible, and Dan sighs but unrolls part of the duvet, which Jaime snatches eagerly, snuggling up to Dan in a way that really shouldn’t be comforting but totally is.

“It’s not even that bad,” Jaime says.

“Except for how it is.”

“Except it’s not.”

“It is.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“How old are we?” Jaime grins.

“Approximately three, apparently,” Dan retorts, but he’s smiling too. Jaime leans forwards to kiss Dan on the cheek.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. Dan sighs, unsure how to reply, and presses their lips together softly. Jaime knows, and Jaime understands, so it’s okay. He doesn’t need to talk.

They lie in silence for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, Jaime shuffling even closer so his legs are twined with Dan’s, their breath mingling in every exhale.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” Dan murmurs, and Jaime looks up at him sadly, brown eyes into brown.

Dan hates what happened between them. He hates himself for it. He hates that every time he looks at Jaime, he’s reminded of what he had and what he threw away, and what Vic now has. He doesn’t want to be with Jaime, no, but he _does_ , fuck, he wants to be with him so badly it aches inside.

But he doesn’t. And it’s confusing as fuck to say the least. But he knows he’ll always have Jaime in at least some way, whether it’s how they are now as best friends/soulmates/slight fuck buddies or as a boyfriend again, and that thought comforts him a little.

“I hate this,” Jaime whispers. “I hate this so fucking much.” And Dan knows he’s referring to them, what happened, how they are now, how they used to be. Because he fucking hates it too. The only difference is it’s his fault, not Jaime’s.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

Neither of them speak again. They simply kiss until their lips are sore.   
-  
Jaime leaves sometime around midnight, saying he promised to meet Vic and the other boys (he claims Mike’s dubbed them the ‘Sexicans’, which made Dan have a laughing fit that took him ten minutes to recover from). Dan wonders absently whether Phil is included in ‘the other boys’, and then curses himself for thinking of Phil, because it brings back horrible memories and resurfaces feelings he never wants to acknowledge again.

At around one in the morning, Dan decides he’s had enough of his bland bedroom walls and heaves himself out of bed, shrugging on a hoodie and sliding down the handy tree outside his window. He could just walk out of the front door, yes, but that involves confrontation with his mother, which is pretty much the last thing he wants right now.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders around a little (in the opposite direction to Phil’s house), ambling down street after street until he’s back where he started, his head swimming a little from the exercise and the darkness. He tends to get a little more…thoughtful when drunk, emotional, tired, philosophical. He’s more alive in the night, although he doesn’t know why. He feels safer in the dark.

Dan finds himself at the bridge without even noticing his feet taking him there, sitting down on the weathered stone of the edge. He feels so fucking free here, so alive, so invigorated, so _human_.

In fact, he finds himself so free that he throws his hoodie to one side, leaving him in only a dark, short-sleeved shirt, exposing most of his scars for the stars and the moon and the sky to see.

He loves the stars. They’ve always fascinated him. There’s something about the night sky that makes Dan want to live. The only time he ever feels remotely alive and like he has a purpose is when he’s on the bridge, staring up at the glimmering points of light that litter the jet-black sky.

Maybe it’s because the stars out-live everything. The entire history of the human race has been the blink of an eye for a star, the creation of the world has barely been anything; everything is irrelevant to stars. The stars above him are the same stars above his grandparents, his great-grandparents, the Normans, the Egyptians, the dinosaurs, and prehistoric lifeforms. The stars above him are the stars that will continue to be there when he’s gone, when any descendants he has may be gone, and when the Earth itself has gone.

Or maybe, leading on from that, it’s because the stars have witnessed so much. Maybe it’s because the stars have seen everything happen, from Plato to Nietzsche, from the Roman/Celtic war to the world wars, from the start of mankind to where it is now. The stars above him have been twinkling down on him every night he was here with Jaime, every kiss they shared, and they were shining down on him the night it all ended too, consoling him with their weak but beautiful light.

Or maybe it’s because everything’s so fucking irrelevant with the stars. Everything anyone on Earth has achieved, anyone branded a hero or a saviour or a genius by the human race, that means _nothing_ to the stars. And that gives Dan a sense of equality, a sense of relief from expectations, a sense of _it doesn’t fucking matter whether I succeed or fail in life because in the end nothing really matters at all_. And that, that’s the most freeing thing about being under the stars, under all these ancient celestial bodies that just don’t fucking give a shit about whether you’re Socrates or Mozart or a homeless drug addict. Nobody matters, no matter what they do.

Or maybe it’s because the universe, the stars, it’s so vast. Human minds cannot begin to comprehend the scale of the universe, because everything the human mind knows is finite. The world – that’s contained; the solar system – that’s contained; houses, cities, countries, continents, everything has an end. But the universe doesn’t, not really. Sure, there might be ‘the edge of the universe’, but there’s still something beyond that. And that, that there is literally _no end_ to the universe, that’s fucking mind-blowing. It’s the strangest sensation when Dan thinks about it, like his mind is finally fucking freed from its finite knowledge and constraints and is recognising that not everything has an end, not everything finishes.

Dan’s not entirely sure which of the reasons it is – maybe it’s a combination of all of them, plus a couple more – but there’s something about the night and the sky and the stars and the moon that makes him feel better, a little more numb but a little less empty. And he likes it that way.

He sits there for what feels like hours (and probably is) before swinging his legs back over, picking up his dust-ridden hoodie and heading back home. Much as he wishes he could stay out with the stars all night, he doesn’t want to overthink, not tonight.

He’ll stay alive for a little longer.  
-  
Dan awakes the next morning to sunlight streaming in from the window he forgot to close after sneaking back in last night. He groans and rolls over in bed, pressing his face to the pillow, before realising that’s really quite uncomfortable and he can’t actually breathe.

He gives up trying to get back to sleep and rolls over to check the time; midday. He should probably get up.

Dan heaves himself out of bed, brushing his shirt and jeans to try and get some of the crinkles that he produced in his sleep out of them. Call him filthy, but he’s too lazy to change out of his clothes now that he’s already dressed, so he simply hops out of the window and slides down the tree, ambling down the street in the soft autumn sun and lifting his face to catch the warmth of the sun’s glow. It’s an almost pleasant day.

Dan barely notices the figure ambling towards him until it’s a little too late – none other than Phil Lester, sauntering down the street in an almost aimless fashion. Dan can’t double back now because Phil’s probably seen him (although judging by the look on his face, his mind is in the clouds right now) and he’ll look cowardly.

Why did he even get up?

He chuckles softly as Phil gets closer, looking at the pile of dog shit in front of Phil and wondering whether he’ll stand in it. Unfortunately he doesn’t, as Dan’s laughter seems to pull him out of his daydreaming.

“Phil,” Dan says as smoothly as he can, wanting to cut the conversation as short as possible. Phil’s probably going to yell at him, or throw shit at him, or all his friends are going to appear and taunt Dan about what happened between him and Phil. There’s no doubt Phil’s told them, obviously. Dan’ll ask Jaime for confirmation of that.

“What do you want?” Phil says, staring at Dan in an almost awed way as his eyes trail across Dan’s skin. Dan feels kind of self-conscious all of a sudden.

“A word,” Dan says nonchalantly.

“You’ve had three. Daily limit is up. Move; I’m getting stuff for my friends,” Phil says. Dan grins.  

“You want to watch that sass,” Dan says. “It’s going to get you in serious trouble someday.”

“Yeah?” Phil says, almost challenging. “I’ll wait for that day to come. Right now, I’d like you to _fucking move_.”

“How about you say the magic word?” Dan says, inching closer. Phil stands his ground, and Dan’s breath hitches a little.

Maybe Phil wants this too.

“Avada Kedavra?” Phil offers, and Dan chuckles again, because even for Phil, that was pretty good.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he says.

“On the contrary,” Phil says, crossing his arms. “I _know_ I’m funny. Can I go now?” The words echo in Dan’s mind like they did the other day – Phil’s asking permission, _making_ himself the submissive one.

“Oh, Phil,” Dan says, shaking his head. “I don’t think you understand how this works.”

“Oh?” Phil says, mock-interestedly. “Please teach me, O Master of all.” That pushes Dan just that little bit closer to the edge, teetering on the brink, and he puts his hand on the small of Phil’s back and another on his waist and pulls him right against Dan, so close that Dan can feel every single fucking inch of Phil’s body beneath his own. And it’s fucking scary, God, it’s terrifying, but it is _so fucking hot_ that Dan can barely handle it.

“Let go of me!” Phil says, writhing in Dan’s grasp, but Dan’s hold is stronger than Phil’s will to struggle.

“Are you sure you want that?” Dan whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of Phil’s ear. Phil shivers, and Dan has to lean back a tiny little bit so Phil doesn’t feel what he’s doing to Dan. That would be embarrassing, to say the least.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil spits, wrenching himself out of Dan’s grasp. Dan lets him go with a smirk.

“Just what I thought,” he says, walking back off without another word.

His heart is beating like crazy, his mind pounding with _what the fuck what the fuck what the actual motherfucking Jesus-loving fuck_. Because yeah, maybe Phil pulled away, maybe Phil spat his words like venom at Dan, but for a moment he did nothing, didn’t struggle, didn’t do anything.

For a moment, he wanted it.


	6. Chapter 6

Leon doesn’t come home all day.

Normally, Dan wouldn’t worry, wouldn’t even think about it – Leon’d be out getting high or drinking copious amounts of alcohol in the park or something – but today, because it’s Phil and Vic and Jaime, he worries.

When the sun goes down and the stars come out and Leon _still_ hasn’t come home, hasn’t even texted Dan to let him know he’s okay, Dan throws on a hoodie and leaves the house.

He’s not really sure where he’s going. He walks to the bridge, but even the bridge isn’t calming his churning stomach, isn’t relaxing him like it usually does. Leon _always_ lets Dan know he’s okay, because he knows how much Dan worries. And much as he rolls his eyes at it, much as he tuts and pretends he hates Dan’s brotherly love, Dan knows it makes Leon feel safe.

So if he hasn’t texted, he isn’t safe, right?

Without even thinking about it, he’s outside Phil’s house, biting his lip as he stares up at the first floor window and rocking back on his heels as he considers. Will anyone even be there, if he tries to get their attention? What if it’s an empty room?

But Jaime will hear, right, ‘cause he’s with them, and he always knows when Dan’s there. And worst case scenario, Dan gets Vic or Phil instead. And even then, he can convince them to let him talk to Leon or Jaime easily enough. Yeah, he’s going to do it.

He picks up a nearby pebble and weighs it in his hand for a moment before hurling it upwards at the window. It clatters against the pane and falls back to the ground, but nobody answers, so Dan tries again. He gets a result this time, though, because someone forces the window up and squints out of it at him. Dan’s heart sinks when he notices the absence of spiky hair and dimples and a cheeky smile, or even a brown fringe swept across a face. He gets a black fringe instead.

The window slams shut again and Dan half-thinks that’s it, that Phil won’t come out and talk to him and _let him know his brother is okay_ , but then the front door opens, and Dan smirks. He basically has Phil wrapped around his little finger

“What do you want?” Phil demands hotly.

“You,” Dan says simply, and curses himself immediately. Why can’t he fucking control his tongue? Especially around Phil, when it’s most vital he does.

“Stop being a dick,” Phil says, scowling, but he steps outside and shuts the door behind him, indicating he doesn’t mind talking. “Go back home. I don’t want you here.”

“You came outside,” Dan points out. “You could have shut the door in my face. You could have stayed inside, nice and cosy with Vic.” Phil blanches, and Dan’s stomach drops. Is there something going on between them? He’d only said that because he hates Vic almost as much as he’s meant to hate Phil, and so Vic was the first person to spring to mind.

There can’t be anything going on between them. Vic’s got Jaime, and it would take a total idiot to choose Phil over Jaime.

“Nothing’s going on between Vic and me,” Phil says, but he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as well as Dan. Dan’s stomach sinks even further.

“Of course,” he says, stringing out the words and raising an eyebrow, and Phil gulps guiltily.

There _is_ something going on.

“Oh,” Dan says softly, when Phil’s face contorts in a quick succession of emotions – guilt, treachery, anger, lust, confusion- “Conflicted, are we?”

“About what?” Phil says, and that irritability is back in his voice. “Can you leave me alone? Go home. I have better things to be doing.”

“Like Vic Fuentes?” Phil’s flush confirms Dan’s fears. “I thought so.” Fuck, how the fuck is Jaime going to take this? Dan can’t be the one to tell him. Dan can’t do that to Jaime. But Vic’s not going to tell him, is he?

Dan would give anything to strangle Vic Fuentes right now.

“I’m not- Vic and me- we-“

“Save it,” Dan says, injecting a bored tone into his voice. “I came for something else, anyway.”

“What, then, if not to taunt me?” Phil asks.

“I already told you,” Dan says. “You.”

“What do you want with me?” Phil says, and he doesn’t sound angry or challenging or anything remotely like that; he sounds tired, like he’s sick of arguing, sick of fighting, sick of being alive - a feeling Dan knows all too well. The only thing that keeps him here is what’s up there, the stars and the moon and the sky.

And then he gets an idea.

“Come with me,” Dan says gently, and Phil rolls his eyes but follows Dan into the street bathed in glaring yellow and orange lights.

“Look up,” Dan says. “What do you see?”

“The sky,” Phil says, tipping his head back. “The moon. Streetlights. What is this, your twisted idea of fun?”

“Streetlights,” Dan says, wisely ignoring Phil’s last comment. “The moon.”

“I just said that,” Phil says. “What’s all this about? Are you drunk?”

“Shut up,” Dan says idly. Phil scowls.

“I’m standing in the middle of a road with you, staring at some streetlights and the fucking moon,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Can you see the stars?” Dan says.

“Of course not,” Phil says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The streetlights are drowning them out.”

“Exactly,” Dan says.

“Exactly what?” Phil asks.

“Sometimes, what seems brighter and closer and easier isn’t as perfect as what’s harder to get, but more beautiful. Sometimes, looking only at the bright thing obscures the beautiful thing. Sometimes, looking at the streetlights obscures the stars.” And Dan watches as Phil squints and then his eyes widen, because he’s looking past the streetlights, looking at the stars.

Dan takes the opportunity to slip away silently, letting the darkness at the end of the street envelop and conceal him, because he wants Phil to know what to do next. If Phil’s a decent person, he’ll do what Dan’s hoping he will.

If not – well. Jaime will get his heart broken once again, and he doesn’t deserve that.  

“I heard them,” a voice beside him says, and Dan barely even jumps because he’s so used to Jaime sneaking up on him that he doesn’t even acknowledge it anymore. The only reason a slight rush of adrenaline courses through his veins is that he expected Jaime to be asleep.

“Heard them?” Dan asks, slipping an arm around Jaime’s waist. Jaime hooks his arms around Dan’s neck.

“They kissed. They thought I was asleep.” Dan doesn’t think he even has a stomach anymore, it’s that far gone.

“Shit, Jaim,” he whispers, drawing Jaime into him and letting him press his face against Dan’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jaime says, but from the strangled sound of his voice Dan can tell it’s not. He wraps his arms around Jaime’s waist and holds him close, watching as Phil traipses back inside and waiting, wondering if he’ll come back out again. He doesn’t know if he wants him to, anymore, not with Jaime here.

“It’s not,” Dan says. Jaime buries his head in Dan’s shoulder, and he’s crying, biting his lip so he doesn’t make a sound. Dan doesn’t think his heart can be torn to shreds any more times in one evening, but then he spies two figures ambling out onto the street – Phil and Vic. Fuck. Jaime doesn’t need to see this.

“I’m not good enough for anyone,” Jaime whispers, and if Dan wasn’t listening hard enough he wouldn’t have heard it.

“You are,” he says, and Jaime pulls away slightly, just enough to look at Dan.

“I’m not,” Jaime says brokenly. “I’m not good enough for you. I’m not good enough for Vic. I’m not good enough for anybody. I should give up trying. I shouldn’t be here.”

Hearing Jaime talk like that makes Dan so fucking angry, so fucking sad, so fucking _empty_ he can’t even handle it. He wants to hug Jaime for the rest of time, wants to kiss him until they can’t kiss anymore, wants to hold him close and never let him go and watch the stars with him and do every single fucking thing he missed out on doing by being the stupid fucking idiot he is and giving him up. Hell, he wants to marry Jaime. He wants to take every shred of happiness he’s ever had and give it to Jaime, and take away every moment of sadness that Jaime’s ever felt. He never wants Jaime to be sad again, and he doesn’t care at what personal price that is.

He’d kill Leon, if it would make Jaime happy. He doesn’t see how it would, but he’d do it. He honestly would.

“You’re always going to be fucking good enough for me, Jaime, don’t ever say that,” Dan says fiercely. “You saved my fucking life. You showed me there was something worth living for.”

“But you left me,” Jaime says. “I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I couldn’t be good enough.”

“Fuck, Jaim,” Dan says. “You’re fucking perfect, can’t you see that? You kept me here. You taught me that there were always stars, even when I couldn’t see them because of the streetlights.” Jaime closes his eyes, trying not to cry, and Dan’s mind flashes back to that moment all those months ago.

_Jaime’s broken._

_Jaime’s broken, and Dan’s the one who broke him. He’s sitting on the bridge, slouching, looking tired and empty and too much like Dan._

_“Can I touch your hair?” Dan doesn’t know what comes over him, what makes him say that. Jaime nods and Dan brings his hand up to tangle in the silky spikes, caressing the soft hair he’ll never get to touch again. Jaime closes his eyes, trying not to cry. His hair is sticking up at more unruly angles than usual, indicating he hadn’t slept well, and his stance is broken, tired, heavy. He’s in pieces, and Dan’s the one who’s torn him apart._

_“Hey,” Dan says gently, as if he’s okay, as if his heart isn’t breaking into a million more pieces with every millisecond that passes. “Open your eyes.”_

_“Why?” Jaime asks, but the question’s not really a question because he has no energy to fight Dan, to counter anything, and that hurts Dan even more. He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he opens his eyes, a single tear falling, and Dan moves his hand to brush it away._

_“Because you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” Dan whispers, and the tear that falls this time is his own._

“I don’t care what you think, Jaime,” Dan says, and he’s all choked up now for no fucking reason. Fuck, he hates remembering things. He wishes he could eradicate all those memories from time and space, start over with Jaime, make both of them happy. “I think you’re perfect. And you know what?”

“What?” Jaime asks, sounding choked and tearful.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” Dan whispers. And then they’re kissing, kissing like they’ll never kiss again, under the streetlights and under the stars and under the moon and the sky and the space junk and all the other shit that’s up there, floating around.

And that’s when Dan knows. He’s in love with Jaime, and he’s never going to fall out of love with him. Sure, he can fall in love with other people, and he’s never going to end up with Jaime, but he’s always going to be hopelessly, stupidly, irreversibly in love with Jaime.

When they break apart, and Dan rests his chin on Jaime’s head as Jaime sobs into his shoulder in earnest, he spots Phil and Vic kissing under the streetlights. But it’s not a joyful kiss, not a I’ve-got-a-crush kiss, but a heavy one. A heavy, heartbroken, hurting one. Because maybe, just maybe, they’re a little bit in love too.

This is such a mess. 


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday passes in a blur of drunkenness and frantic texts and calls from Jaime. Dan gets through an entire pack of cigarettes in one day, littering his room with ash and making it a hazy, foggy mist that he can barely see through. He doesn’t open a window, doesn’t open the door. Maybe he’ll choke to death. Saves him having to get up and end his life instead.

Jaime sleeps over on Sunday night, but Dan barely notices. He’s too drunk to notice much.

The car journey to school is tense and awkward. Both Dan and Leon are hungover as fuck, but they’re different kinds of hungovers – Dan’s always the angry, talk-to-me-and-I’ll-chainsaw-everyone-you’ve-ever-spoken-to hungover, whereas Leon’s more the whimpering let-me-sleep hungover. Leon knows Dan’s mad at him, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s probably wise to do so, because Dan’s gritting his teeth so hard he’s pretty sure he’s shaved off a filling as it is, knuckles white on the steering wheel and driving erratic, so he’d probably be worse if he had the chance to explode at Leon.

Leon exits the car as quickly as he can when they reach the school, wincing slightly as he slams the door shut and heads off to his friends. Dan takes a moment to compose himself, irrational anger bubbling up inside him – _how fucking dare Leon waltz off like that, how dare he not speak to Dan, how dare he how dare he how dare he_ – but eventually he has to leave the car, or Chris and PJ will freak.

Well, no, they won’t. It’s the excuse Dan uses because he can see Phil heading over in the same direction as Leon, and doesn’t want to bump into him.

“You alright?” Chris asks when Dan walks into the common room, fists clenched and jaw set.

“Do I look it?” Dan hisses.

“Nope,” PJ says nonchalantly, scribbling something on a notepad. “You look positively pissed.”

“I am,” Dan grits out. “Fuck. I hate everyone. I hate everything. Give me a gun.”

“We live in England. That’s not legal.”

“Let’s go to America.”

“You’d get shot before you had the chance to shoot anyone.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan groans, but rests his head on his arms, because PJ’s probably right.

“How much have you had?” Chris asks gently.

“Two bottles.”

“Beer?” Dan shakes his head – a lie. Then again, that’s all his life consists of – lies strung together, untruths whispered from his mind to his heart to his soul to his lips, fabricated tales and stories that he half-wishes were reality, because reality’s always so much worse, so much more boring, so much less entertaining and so much more _I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I want to die I want to die I’m going to die I hate myself I hate myse-I’m want to die I want t-I’m going-_

“Vodka, whiskey,” he mumbles. He’s surprised it didn’t kill him, but he had drunk them over the course of the day, with toilet breaks and other drinks in between. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed that he’s still breathing. Probably the latter.

“Dan,” Chris says, but his voice is just as softly chiding as it is concerned.

“I know,” Dan says quietly, not looking up. “I hate it.”

“You can’t keep destroying yourself like this,” Chris says, and Dan looks up tiredly, meeting his eyes. “Eventually, you’re going to…” he trails off, biting his lip. He can’t bring himself to end the sentence, just like Dan can’t bring himself to end his life. He’s such a fucking failure

“Isn’t that the point?” PJ says, looking up from his notepad. “That’s what self-destruction is all about.”  
-  
Dan manages to escape Chris’ motherly worrying and PJ’s infrequent yet hauntingly correct inputs by going to Music, a lesson neither of them have. He doesn’t actually have it either right now, but Mr Dowsett knows him and has watched him grow from a weak boy into an even weaker young man, so he says nothing, handing Dan his favourite guitar and letting him into his practice room. Dan comes here a lot when he’s at school, when he needs to get away, because playing is one of the only things that makes him feel less broken.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t been here for a while, because it’s been the summer holidays and then he was caught up with Phil and-

And nothing, he’s not going down that road, not today.

He’s soon playing a song familiar underneath his calloused fingers, a song he’d written for Jaime a long time ago, and humming along. He’d given the song to Jaime, because he wanted Vic to sing it, and Vic had taken it and made it a thousand times better than it had originally been. Much as Dan despises Vic, much as he wants to rip his throat out with his bare hands, he can’t deny that Vic’s a truly talented musician. His voice can be rough, harsh, barbed wire, or it can be soft, soothing, kisses. And this song required soft, soothing, kisses, because Dan can’t sing for shit.

Vic doesn’t know he wrote it, though – he thinks Jaime did -  which is probably why he put so much care into the song – adding the piano, the beautiful harmonies, every aspect of the song that makes it so heart-wrenching, so perfect, so _painful_.

But he has a suspicion, because he knows Jaime’s not _that_ good at lyrics or chords. Jaime’s a bassist, for crying out loud – he can write good tunes, decent lyrics, but needs a lot of help with the chords. And that’s probably what makes Vic think that maybe it was a different brown-eyed boy that wrote about kissing razors, and maybe that’s why he titled the song Stay Away From My Friends.

Dan still loves the song, though, and every time he hears them play it three rooms away he stops whatever he’s doing and listens, listens to Vic singing his heart and soul out, because he knows Vic feels those lyrics too. They mean something to Vic, even though they came from Dan through Jaime. He makes them his own.

And every time Dan hears it, every time he listens, he ends up crying. He doesn’t notice until it’s too late, until the tears are falling hot and salty down his face, but he does.

He’s so caught up in playing the song and thinking about the logistics of it that he barely notices the door push open until it’s too late. He snaps his head up, watching with narrowed eyes as a black-haired boy makes his way into the room. Doesn’t Phil have any _manners_? Knocking is considered polite, in most societies.

“What do you want?” Dan says coldly. He’s not in the fucking mood to talk to Phil. He’s still hungover and he _hates_ when people interrupt him when he’s playing because that’s one of the only times he’s actually being _him_ , and he gets so fucking embarrassed which makes him hide that under snappiness and anger.

“To see whether this practice room was free,” Phil says. Dan narrows his eyes even more. Clearly, it’s not, so why did Phil waltz inside?

“Well, it’s fucking not. Fuck off.”

“What’s got into you?” Phil snaps, and Dan resists the urge to scream at him. It’s not very manly.

“What’s got into _you_?” Dan snaps right back. “If you don’t leave right now, you’ll get a fist to the face.” And he’s not fucking joking. His right hand is already balled up, ready, waiting.

“You’re _so_ fucking demented,” Phil mutters, clearly intending Dan to hear, and he still doesn’t _fucking leave_.

“And you’re a fucking _bitch_ ,” Dan hisses, putting down guitar and standing up so his face is level with Phil’s, eyes blazing. “Didn’t I tell you to leave? This room’s taken.”

“I can see that,” Phil fires back, but he doesn’t leave. If he can see that Dan’s in there, why doesn’t he fucking go? What’s all this about his stupid pride that makes him unable to shut his mouth or leave?

“I’m warning you,” Dan spits.

“Yeah?” Phil counters, challenging. Dan loves a challenge. “Go on then.” He drops the guitar he’s holding – a nice baby-blue Strat, Dan notes – and spreads his palms, offering himself up, making himself vulnerable.

Dan takes his chance. He’s been merciful one too many times, he’s hungover, he’s pissed off, so he grabs Phil by the collar and slams him into the wall, fiery brown eyes boring into Phil’s icy blue ones, tinged with fear.

“You want to fucking try it?” Dan whispers dangerously. Phil says nothing, but the fear in his eyes becomes slightly more prominent. “Yeah, I thought so. Not as cocky now, are you?” He releases his grip on Phil’s shirt, and Phil rubs the back of his neck as Dan pulls away.

Dan’s even angrier now. Phil’s meant to respond, not meant to shut up and be quiet and take it like everyone else does. Phil’s meant to be new, refreshing, sassy, cocky, _different_. Phil’s not meant to be like everyone else, _fuck_.

“Phil,” Dan finds himself saying, and Phil turns around from where he’s about to walk out of the door. Dan moves closer, wanting to punch him or kick him or throw him against the wall, but he does none of those things.

He kisses Phil.

He kisses Phil hungrily, open-mouthed, filthy, with every inch of passion and anger and hatred and sadness and fucking _emotion_ that he’s ever felt, tongues tangling together.

And the best part is, Phil even kisses back, pressing his hips roughly up against Dan’s.

For a moment, at least – then he’s pulling away, shoving at Dan but stumbling back himself, allowing Dan to lean back and stare at him with a racing heart and aching lips and burning lungs.

Neither of them speak, merely staring at one another for a good few moments, before Phil simply turns around and leaves.

Dan makes to go after him when the door swings shut, apologise, say _something_ , but he stops. Vic’s standing outside, fists clenched, face white.

And down the corridor, Dan can see Jaime peering out of his own practice room. Fuck. He needs to look away; he’s going to get hurt.

 _Maybe that’s what he wants, though_ , a voice in Dan’s voice offers, and Dan quenches it immediately. No. Jaime’s not like that, not _allowed_ to be like that. Jaime’s going to be alive, going to live, going to be happy. That’s all he’s allowed.

They exchange a few words – Dan can’t really hear, because the practice room is meant to be a little sound-proof (how else would a corridor of five practice rooms in a row work) but he can catch the general gist of it. Vic’s accusing him of kissing Dan, and Phil’s denying it.

He _had_ kissed Dan, though, regardless of whether he wants to admit it or not. And he’d enjoyed it.

But then Vic’s facial expression changes, becomes softer and sadder and more hurt and heavy, and Dan sees Phil mouth the word ‘stars’ at Vic.

Vic’s reply is easy enough for Dan to lip-read. _What if I want the streetlight?_

Maybe Phil knows about Jaime and Vic. Maybe he’s just a good person. Maybe he wants Vic to be happy. There are so many possibilities – infinite numbers – but there’s a reason he says what he says next. He shakes his head, repeating his earlier word. _Stars_.

Then they hug, Vic sobbing into Phil’s shoulder – _pathetic little cunt_ – as Phil strokes his hair, whispering soothing words into his ear.

Dan meets Jaime’s broken gaze before he turns away back to Tony and Mike, and Dan’s eyes linger only a moment longer on the embracing couple before his stomach sinks too far for him to take.

How ironic, he thinks, pulling his left sleeve up his arm roughly, and looking at the scratchy, uneven scar leading from his forearm all the way to his wrist.

 _Stars_.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s the early hours of the morning when Jaime comes over.

Dan doesn’t speak when he climbs through the permanently open window, just lets Jaime fall into his arms and holds him.

They stand there in silence for a good five minutes before Jaime mumbles something against Dan’s jumper.

“Sorry,” Dan says, leaning back a bit. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaime says, avoiding Dan’s gaze.

“Jaime.”

“Dan.”

“ _Jaime_.”

“ _Dan_.”

“Jaim, come on.” Jaime sighs, looking anywhere but at Dan when he lets the words tumble from his lips.

“I’m not good enough.”

And Dan can’t reply to that, can’t articulate in how many ways Jaime is just _too_ good, too good for Vic, too good for Dan, so he pulls Jaime into another fierce hug, whispering over and over and over that he’s perfect, so fucking perfect.

He can feel the tears sliding down Jaime’s cheeks, staining Dan’s jumper, and it aches inside, in that hollow where his heart should be.

“I went over to Vic’s earlier.” Dan closes his eyes, resting his chin on Jaime’s head. Why the fuck would Jaime do that?

It reminds him of a song he heard once, one of his dad’s stupid old songs that Dan always moans at him to _turn the fuck off_ , he’d rather listen to a good dose of Muse or Green Day.

_Fools in love, well, are there any other kind of lovers?  
Fools in love, is there any other kind of pain?_

“What happened?” Jaime sighs, detangling himself from Dan and sitting down on the bed, looking more dejected than Dan’s ever seen him look before.

“He called me, asked me to come over. I did, obviously. He sounded sad, I don’t know, so I went over, and he just…hugged me for a long time. So I asked him what was wrong, and he said something happened with- with Phil.” Jaime pauses, swallowing thickly, but Dan just waits for him to continue. He’s gathering his thoughts; it’s a very Jaime thing to do. “So I said that I-I’d seen them together, y’know, Vic and Phil yesterday, but Vic said it was nothing, that Phil had just been comforting him. I asked why he needed comforting, and- and fuck, Dan, he just…he just shut down. He closed up, wouldn’t tell me anything. Do you know how much that hurt?” Dan shakes his head. “He can only imagine. “And then we both got angry because I was agitated and I was frustrating Vic and we yelled a bit and then I left and walked around for a while before coming here.”

Dan sits down next to Jaime, wrapping an arm around his waist. Jaime rests his head on Dan’s shoulder, letting his eyes flutter shut as a tear falls, and Dan brushes it away with his free hand.

“Vic’s not good for you, Jaim,” he says gently.

“I know,” Jaime says miserably. “You can’t help who you fall for, though.”

Dan pushes the image of a raven-haired, sharp-tongued boy out of his mind.

“I’m not saying don’t love him,” Dan says. “Just…be careful. Love’s not always that easy.” Jaime snorts half-heartedly.

“I’m finding that out the hard way,” he says. “Look at me. Years of caring for and loving Vic, and he doesn’t give a shit. A couple of weeks of _knowing_ Vic, and he’s all over Phil.” Dan sighs.

“Exactly,” he says. “Look, Vic doesn’t want Phil ultimately. Vic’s…easily distracted, shall we say. And I sure as hell bet Phil doesn’t want him.” He doesn’t mention the kiss.

“Should I talk to Phil?” Jaime asks timidly. “I…I want to let him know that, y’know. It’s okay. I think Tony told him about how Vic and I go way back, and I don’t want him to feel like he’s stealing my man, or whatever. I mean, Vic’s single, after all. He’s not bound to me by any means. If Phil makes him happy, that’s better than me indulging in my selfishness and…yeah, right?”

“Jaime, you don’t need to do this to yourself.”

“But if it makes Vic happy-“

“Forget about Vic for just one fucking minute,” Dan says. “Are you happy?”

Jaime says nothing.

“Exactly. Would it make you happy if Vic was with Phil?”

“It would make me happy to see Vic ha-“

“Did I ask that?”

“No, bu-“

“So answer the question I asked.” Jaime’s silent for a long time before he opens his mouth and whispers one word.

“No.”

“You need to stop putting Vic before yourself, Jaime,” Dan says. “You might love him, but regardless of in what way he loves you too, and I bet he wouldn’t want to do anything that makes you actively unhappy either.” Jaime sighs.

“He won’t know.”

“Vic always knows.”

“I’ll talk to Phil,” Jaime says. “They- _we_ can work it out from there.”

“Okay,” Dan says. Jaime turns his head, looking up at Dan with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “You gonna kiss me, or what?” Dan smiles back, leaning down and kissing him softly.

“You’re welcome. And yeah, you demanding fucker.”   
-  
Dan manages about three hours of sleep that entire night, and even that is broken up and little bits here and there, waking up at various points in the night to find Jaime just staring at the ceiling with dead, glass-like eyes, and rolling over to snuggle him and murmur sleepy _it’s gonna be okay_ s in his ear. The morning comes way too fast, and Jaime leaves him with a forced smile and an _I’m okay, I swear_ (and swearing is Jaime code for lying, because Dan knows he takes promises really seriously so he swears instead of promising when he’s lying).

But now it’s time for Music, and Dan’s _pissed off_ because he’s been moaned at by Chris and PJ all morning and dammit, he got _three hours sleep maximum_ , does nobody understand that? So he stalks through the corridors, pushing anyone and everyone out of his way as hard as he can and sending a few younger kids clattering into metal lockers and not even feeling bad because he’s an emotionless dickhead who cares about no one, not even himself.

When he gets to Music, expecting a calming hour of strumming a guitar and maybe listening to Jaime and his friends, he’s unpleasantly surprised. Sitting in his practice room ( _his_ practice room) is Phil, head bent over his guitar. Dan pushes the door open and slams it shut behind him, standing in the practice room with boiling blood and folded arms. Phil’s been here a couple of weeks; what the fuck is he doing, intruding on Dan’s life like this? Does he not understand how the system works?

Phil’s head snaps up as soon as Dan shuts the door.

“This is my practice room,” Dan says quietly, dangerously.

“Too bad I was here first, isn’t it?” Phil shoots back, and fuck, Dan is _really_ not in the mood for someone cocky today.

“Get. Out.”

“Make. Me.” So Dan darts forward, pulling Phil up from his chair and shoving him roughly against the wall, pinning him there with his own body. He hears Phil’s breathing hitch and bites back a smirk as Phil struggles to get away. Dan’s not having any of that, though, so he grabs Phil’s wrists coolly and pins them to the wall, holding him there with no difficultly whatsoever.

“ _Get the fuck off me_ ,” Phil hisses angrily, writhing under Dan’s grasp. Dan chuckles – this is the best thing that’s happened to him all day – and grips Phil’s wrists a little tighter, just tight enough to be extremely uncomfortable.

“Make me,” he says teasingly, harking back to Phil’s comment earlier that had led to all this, but his eyes are blazing.

And maybe he lets go a little, or maybe he isn’t expecting it at all but Phil pushes back against Dan roughly, using the element of surprise that everyone always talks about in action movies to spin the two of them around, catching Dan’s wrists in his hands and pinning them against the wall, reversing their positions.

Dan tries hard not to notice that Phil’s standing as close to Dan as Dan was to Phil when the roles were reversed, skin to skin, shirt to shirt, crotch to crotch.

“I think I just did,” Phil whispers with a smirk.

“Amateur move, Phil,” Dan says, and Phil shrugs, letting him go. Dan almost snorts aloud at just _how_ amateur Phil actually is, spinning around and pinning Phil to the wall again. Phil begins struggling almost immediately, but Dan’s not letting his guard down now.

“What are you getting out of this?” Phil snarls at Dan. Dan grins at him, not even breaking a sweat as he keeps Phil held against the wall.

“At worst, a little bit of fun. At best, a practice room and you to fuck off,” Dan shrugs. Phil shakes his wrist hard enough to get one of Dan’s hands off himself, catching Dan’s wrist in his hand and clenching it just as tightly as Dan’s clenching Phil’s.

“Even?” he offers. Dan narrows his eyes with a scowl.

“Never,” he hisses, trying to move his hand up to catch Phil’s wrist. Phil flicks Dan’s hand away deftly, nonchalantly, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes of school left,” Phil reasons. Dan’s eyes flick to the clock – fuck, was he that late to Music? – and then back to Phil’s face, and he releases his grip on Phil’s wrists. It’s not worth it.

Phil pulls his hands back and cradles them against his chest, nursing the red marks Dan’s left on the skin. Dan steps back, allowing Phil to get away from the wall and Dan’s body. He doesn’t need to pick a fight with Phil.

But Phil’s standing there, breathless from the struggle and eyes blazing and hair falling into his eyes and _fuck_ , he’s so hot, and all Dan wants to do is kiss him until he can’t breathe anymore.

“Fuck, you’re so bipo-“ is all Phil manages to mutter under his breath before Dan’s shoving him against the wall again, pinning him there with his hips, with his lips, his hands roaming every inch of Phil’s body. He runs his hands under Phil’s shirt, dancing his fingertips along the soft skin of Phil’s hips and Phil moans, opening his mouth for Dan to tangle their tongues together. He struggles a little bit, but it’s half-hearted and he gives up after a moment, kissing Dan back with all he’s got.

Dan groans lowly into the kiss and something seems to snap in Phil, making him gasp and grind his hips against Dan’s and _fuck_ , Dan’s hard, so fucking hard, and Phil’s pulling away (as far as he can, anyway) and gazing at him, fiery blue eyes into fiery brown.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, but it’s not rude, harsh – his tone is more wondrous than anything else. “What are you?”

“Dan Howell,” Dan says, just as softly. “Bad news.”

Phil stares at Dan a little bit longer, just long enough for Dan to feel unnerved and _fuck, what if Phil can see the dead in his eyes like Dan can see the dead in Phil’s_.

And just when Dan’s about to pull away, just when he’s going to sigh and apologise and let Phil go, Phil darts forwards and presses their lips together again. Dan moans, surprised and still stupidly turned on, and Phil’s breath hitches as he pulls away, pupils blown and blue eyes dark.

Dan turns him on.

Neither of them say anything more. Dan just pulls away and walks out, leaving a breathless and confused and horny Phil in the practice room by himself, walking down endless corridors until he hears the bell go and hides in a classroom, locking the door and practically sprinting over to the corner of the classroom obscured by a wall and hidden from sight.

He flicks deftly at the faded gold of his zipper and it’s not long before he’s got his cock in his hand, curling his fingers around himself and stroking hard and fast, biting back gasps and moans and whimpers, breathing erratic. But when he finally pushes himself over the edge, mind filled with black hair and blue eyes and guitarists fingers and kisses and grinding against a wall, there’s one name that tumbles from his lips along with gasps and curse words.

Phil. 


	9. Chapter 9

The day starts just like any other.

Dan hasn’t got any particular reason _not_ to go to school, but he doesn’t want to. The only thing that makes him go in is the thought of maybe seeing Phil, and that Leon will notice something out of place otherwise.

“See you later!” Leon calls cheerily, slamming the door behind him as he skips off to his friends. Dan doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t matter because Leon’s already gone, not giving Dan a second thought as he walks over to his group of friends. Dan sighs, locking his car with a loud bleep before pocketing the key, slinging his bag further over his shoulder and heading for the sixth form common room.

“Alright,” Chris nods when he walks in. Dan nods back, walking over to their table and throwing his stuff down next to PJ.

“Alright?” PJ asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Dan says with a sigh, carding a hand through his hair.

“You don’t sound it,” PJ remarks.

“Trust me, it’s fine,” Dan says, even though it’s really not, and Chris and PJ have known him long enough to be able to tell that. They share a look of concern, but don’t push it any further with Dan. If he wants to tell them he will.

“What’ve you got first?” Chris asks, directing it at PJ. They both know Dan prefers to be left alone when he’s in one of his moods.

“Free,” PJ says, grinning as Chris moans, slamming his head down on the table.

“Remind me why I took History again?” he groans, muffled by the table.

“Because you’re a fucking idiot?” PJ offers. Chris raises his head to glower at PJ.

“Maybe you should have taken English and learnt what a fucking rhetorical question is,” he retorts, and PJ smirks at him.

“Law’s full of rhetoric,” he says. Chris opens his mouth to retaliate, but the bell goes, causing PJ’s grin to widen.

“Saved by the bell,” Chris yells as he files out of the room with all the other unlucky students who have a lesson first period. PJ turns to Dan.

“Don’t you have Geography?” he asks gently. Dan shrugs. He doesn’t really care what he’s got right now. He doesn’t care about anything.

“Alright,” PJ says with a sigh. “I’m going to the shop - you want anything?” Dan shakes his head. He doesn’t have the energy to eat right now. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything.

By the time PJ’s gathered his stuff and left, the common room is empty. Dan stares at the lilac walls for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts and simultaneously stop them, before he hears some laughter from outside. Of course; the common room overlooks the patch of grass Leon and his friends choose to occupy.

He drags himself over to the window, intending to pull it open and yell at Leon to get to lessons – after all, Dan wants him to turn out as a respectable individual, not a complete failure like Dan – when he sees Phil sitting down there, joking and laughing with his friends. Vic’s missing, though, and Dan can’t help but wonder whether it’s something to do with what happened in Music two days ago. Jaime had seemed pretty torn up after that.

His eyes slide over to his ex-boyfriend with his spiky black hair and his dimples and his ever-present smile, and his heart aches a little bit. He knows what’s hiding under that smile, and it’s not something he’d wish upon Jaime; or anyone, for that matter. He still loves Jaime – purely platonically, though – and he hates that Jaime has to deal with all that shit. He doesn’t deserve it. No one does.

Jaime seems to sense him looking down at them because he looks up, catching Dan’s eye and holding his gaze for a split second, just long enough to send Dan a message and short enough that it doesn’t look suspicious. He turns back to his friends and says something before getting up, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking over to the buildings. Dan watches him amble to the door, then flicks his eyes back to the group; Phil’s watching him go, biting his lip contemplatively, as if he’s wondering whether to follow Jaime or not. He doesn’t, thankfully; he’s distracted by Mike drawing something on a piece of paper for him, explaining with wild gestures and emphatic facial expressions. Dan almost smiles.

“Hey,” a voice says, and Dan whirls around to see Jaime hanging in the door of the common room. “Clear?”

“Clear,” Dan nods, and Jaime walks in, hands still in his pockets, hovering a few feet from Dan.

“What’s up?” Jaime asks softly. “Everything okay?” And normally Dan would nod, maybe put on a brave smile, but this is Jaime, Jaime who’s watched him crumble and fall apart and break into pieces and held him through it all, so he doesn’t.

“No,” Dan says. Jaime’s face creases into one of concern, and he bites his lip.

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers. Dan shakes his head, and Jaime nods. He understands.

“Is it Phil?” Jaime asks after a while. Dan looks away, back out of the window, back at the black-haired boy sitting on the grass and laughing and having a good time with Dan’s brother.

“I don’t know,” Dan says quietly. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“You can’t keep denying it, Dan,” Jaime says gently. “You liked what we had. Being gay, or bisexual, or whatever you are…it’s not a bad thing. You can’t keep repressing it, shoving it away.”

“I don’t,” Dan says fiercely. “I’m _straight_.” He’s not gay. He just…he isn’t. He’s going to go to uni and find a pretty girl and have beautiful kids and grow old and have grandchildren and then die. He’s got his life set out for him.

“Is that really what you want?” Jaime sighs. “You want to pretend for the rest of your life? Fuck, Dan, look how hard it is for you _now_. You’ve pretended long enough, and when you didn’t for a while you were _happy_. Are you happy now? Is this making you happy?” Dan opens his mouth to answer – _yes, I’m fucking happy_ – but he can’t find the words.

Because he’s _not fucking happy_.

“See?” Jaime says. “Is it worth it? Is this how you want to go on? You could be happy, y’know. Phil could make you happy.” And Dan thinks about it; kissing Phil, moving in with Phil, laughing with Phil, maybe adopting with Phil, marrying Phil, and he finds himself fighting a smile.

“I don’t _want_ to be happy with Phil,” Dan says. “I want to be _normal_.”

“Fuck, Dan, this doesn’t make you _abnormal_ ,” Jaime says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Dan doesn’t reply, because he’s not homophobic or anything, he just doesn’t want it for himself. He doesn’t know why; he just doesn’t.

“I’m scared,” Dan says after a moment, and his voice is small and more of a whimper than anything else. Jaime takes a few more steps towards him, sighing as he puts a comforting hand on Dan’s forearm.

“We’re all scared of something, Dan,” he says. “I’m scared of losing people, losing you, losing Vic. But there are some things that you don’t have to be scared of. And this is one of them.”

“He makes me…feel.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something, then?” Jaime says, and Dan closes his eyes, a single tear falling down his face, the warm droplet familiar against his skin.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jaime says softly, pulling Dan into a close embrace. Dan wraps his arms around Jaime’s waist, swallowing thickly as he tries not to sob into Jaime. Jaime’s watched him fall apart enough times; Dan needs to be strong for Jaime, for a change. “No matter what happens, we always have each other.”

“Yeah,” Dan says when they break apart, wiping a few stray tears from his face. “We do.”  
-  
Dan’s actually starting to feel halfway alright through the day, getting back into laughing and joking with Chris and PJ (and even locking a few irritating kids in the room), and hanging around playing football with Leon at school until dusk. His mood is steadily improving until him and Leon step out of the car at home. Their mother’s waiting for them at the door – weird, that’s unusual – and they share a confused look before walking over towards her.

“I’d like a word,” she says, and Dan’s blood runs cold. He immediately starts going through everything remotely immoral he’s done over the past eight years that she could possibly have found out about; a sideways glance at his brother confirms he’s doing the same. They stay silent, however, traipsing into the living room in wake of their mother.

“Mr McGinty called today,” she says to Leon. “He was wondering why you hadn’t attended any of his History lessons recently.” Leon blanches.

“He seemed to think you’d started to hang out with a bad group of people,” their mother presses on, with a hard, calculating stare at Leon. “History’s your favourite subject, Leon. What’s going on?” Leon doesn’t say anything; wise move.

“Is it Dan’s influence?” she asks, and wow, that shouldn’t really hurt but it does. Fuck Dan’s oversensitivity.

“No,” Leon says defensively. He’s always admired Dan, looked up to him – he shouldn’t, though – and Dan’s grateful that he’s trying to defend him now. It won’t work, though.

“Why haven’t you been going to History, then?” their mother asks, pursing her lips. “Spit it out, Leon, I haven’t got all day.”

“No reason,” Leon mumbles. “Not feeling well.”

“Not feeling well?” his mother says. “Don’t pull that crap with me, Leonard.” Shit, she’s pulled out the full-name card; this is serious.

“Does it matter?” Leon asks. “You never cared when Dan did it.”

“That’s because we always knew Dan would fail,” their mum says. “We never had any hopes or aspirations for him. He was never going anywhere. We knew he’d fail. But you, Leon, you’re _intelligent_. You can do so much, go so far…why throw it away?” Dan stands up abruptly. He knows his mum’s game. She’s brought him in to make him feel guilty.

He leaves the room without another word or a backwards glance, ignoring Leon’s shouts of his name. No one cares about him, not even his parents. He’s not worth anything – he’s a failure, his own _mother_ said it. He’s never going to go anywhere.

He doesn’t go upstairs. He’s tempted, but sometimes even the blade can’t make him feel better. Sometimes the blade isn’t enough. Instead, he pulls his grey hoodie down from the hook it’s hanging on and shrugs it on, opening the door and heading out into the cold darkness of the night. He knows where he’s going, what he has to do. It’s earlier than he intended, but whatever. He’s got the note in his pocket; he’s got everything prepared. For the first time in a long time, he has a _purpose_ ; to die.

Someone’s walking down the street when Dan clicks the door open and steps out, however, a tall, lanky frame that can only belong to one person – Phil.

“Phil,” he says, frowning in confusion. What’s Phil doing out at this time of night?

“What do you want?” Phil says, and his voice is cold, colder than Dan’s ever heard before. It slices his heart open just a little more than his mother just did.

“To talk,” Dan says. He doesn’t, really, he wants to throw himself off the bridge, so he’s not sure what made him say that. Maybe admit to Phil what’s really been going on, apologise for being such a cunt?

Phil scowls at Dan.

“Alright, talk,” he says, as if it’s a challenge, crossing his arms defiantly. Dan sighs, shaking his head with a small, fond smile – Phil’s so _cute_ when he gets angry and defensive.

“Can we go somewhere a little more…private?” Dan asks. He’s hardly in the mood for having this conversation in his driveway. Leon could come out any minute.

“Where do you suggest?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs.

“Bridge?” he suggests. He likes the bridge. He can see the stars.

Phil rolls his eyes, but nods, and they walk down the driveway and up the path together, side by side, not exchanging a single word or glance until they reach the bridge, simply staring stonily ahead. It’s really fucking dark now, dark enough for the stars to be shining through the canopy of the woods.

“Okay,” Phil says, spinning around to face Dan. “Talk.”

“Sit,” Dan offers, gesturing at the bridge. Phil sighs, but swings his legs over the side and lets them dangle into the darkness. He stares intently down at the darkness of the water beneath them as Dan swings his legs over as well, probably not wanting to face Dan and not knowing where to look. Dan would do the same.

“You spoke to Jaime,” Dan says after a moment. Phil doesn’t say anything. “Did you speak to Vic?” Phil remains silent. Dan sighs. Phil’s hurting.

“You know they’re better for each other, Phil,” he says softly. “You know you were his streetlight.”

“He was mine, too,” Phil says quietly. “You let it have a double meaning.” Dan smiles wryly. It’s taken Phil long enough to work that one out.

“Yeah,” Dan admits. “I did.” They lapse into silence again, before Dan speaks.

“It’s pretty here,” he remarks.

“I can’t see much of it,” Phil says. “It’s pretty fucking dark.” Dan shakes his head fondly, fighting a small smile.

“Exactly,” he says. “Doesn’t the darkness strike you as…beautiful?”

“Not really,” Phil says. “It’s dark.”

“It’s beautiful because you don’t know what’s there,” Dan says.

“I’d count that as pretty damn terrifying. There could be a murderer behind us right now,” Phil says.

“And tell me honestly that you would mind if you died right now.” Dan turns to face Phil, watch his silhouette, and sees him open his mouth and then close it again, a sudden look of fear shining in his moonlit eyes.

“I thought as much,” Dan says, smiling. Phil scowls, leading them to lapse into silence for a few more moments.

“Look up,” Dan says after a while. Phil does so. “What can you see?”

“The stars,” Phil says. “What can _you_ see?” It sounds like a challenge, and Dan allows himself a brief grin before continuing.

“The beginning,” Dan says. “The end. Births and deaths, right above us, right in front of our eyes, beauty in both.”

“No streetlights here,” Phil mutters.

“Exactly,” Dan says. “Just the stars. Just the beginning, just the end. Just me, just you. Just us.” And he doesn’t know why, but his fingers have found Phil’s in the darkness, twining themselves together as they gaze up at the night sky with the water rushing below them. Dan’s neck is starting to hurt as he stares up at the stars, the moon, the planets and galaxies and infinite possibilities in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels like there might be something down here for him, rather than up there.


	10. Chapter 10

Thursday is uneventful.

(That’s mainly because Dan doesn’t go into school, but whatever.)

It’s the first night his dad’s been home in a while, though, and that’s never a good thing. Dan spends all evening shielding Leon from his father’s view because fuck, if their father finds out _anything_ that could be used as a weapon he’ll use it, abuse it, abuse Leon and as if Dan’s going to let _that_ happen. He’d rather die.

“Dan,” his father says disapprovingly.

“Father,” Dan says, equally disapprovingly.

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” his father roars.

“Don’t you talk to me like _that_ ,” Dan retorts, cool as anything. He’s in shut-down mode, the way he is at school, cool and sassy and openly destructive.

“You’re the reason I’m never home, you know that?” his father hisses, and Dan shrugs.

“That’s the reason I _am_ home,” he says.

The punch hurts less than he expected.

(Dan notices Leon hovering by the door looking anxious and scared, gnawing on his bottom lip, and throws him a pleading glance – _leave, fucking leave, please, you don’t want to see this_.)

Finally, though, his dad leaves again, out to get drunk and fuck prostitutes or whatever he does, Dan doesn’t care.

“You alright?” Leon asks, rounding on Dan immediately and reaching down to touch the blossoming bruise on his abdomen. Dan hisses and lets his eyes flutter shut at the contact on the painful patch of skin, but Leon’s fingers skim around the bruise and over his hips, distracting him.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Fine.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Leon says quietly.

“Go to bed,” Dan says, because he doesn’t have the heart to tell Leon that he deserves all the pain he receives, even the self-inflicted pain. Leon throws him one last worried glance and wraps his arms around his older brother protectively, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek and Dan feels simultaneously better and worse – Leon’s not meant to be the one taking care of Dan; it should be the other way around.

 “You alright?” Dan asks his mum quietly. She’s been standing there tensely for God knows how many hours. Dan doesn’t know why she doesn’t just divorce him.

(He does, really. She loves him.)

“Yeah,” she says with a tight nod and a forced smile, but Dan doesn’t push it because she doesn’t want to talk and he doesn’t care.   
-  
It’s three in the morning, and Dan can’t sleep.

That’s nothing special or different – he can rarely sleep when Jaime’s not by his side – but it’s bad enough tonight that he gives up altogether, deciding to go to the bridge and contemplate the miseries of his life under the stars rather than in an enclosed space.

He pulls the window down and clambers out, shimmying down the tree and landing with a soft thump on the grass beneath. It’s a cool night and he’s probably going to catch a cold, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He makes it down the driveway before noticing something on the opposite side of the street – a boyish figure with its legs stretched out and head tilted back, staring unblinkingly at the sky.

Phil.

“What are you doing out at three in the morning?” Dan asks, making his way over, and Phil jerks hie head back down in surprise.

“Life,” he says after a moment. “Things getting to me.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Dan says, sitting down next ot Phil.

“Not really,” Phil says. “It’s just my dad, nothing big.” Dan raises his eyebrows and resists the urge to snort. Everyone in this neighbourhood has serious daddy issues, himself included. How coincidental that it happened on the same night.

“Okay,” Dan says agreeably. He’s not going to make Phil talk if he doesn’t want to. They sit in silence for a while before Phil shivers involuntarily as the wind picks up, and Dan look at him in concern. How long has he been out here? He’s going to catch pneumonia or something, Christ.

“You should come inside,” Dan offers gently. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out much longer.”

“I’ve probably already got one,” Phil says apathetically.

“Come on,” Dan says, and Phil just gives in, doesn’t fight as Dan stands up and wanders up to his house. Dan turns and presses a finger to his lips as he tiptoes up the stairs (it’s a harder way to go, but classier than climbing a tree), gesturing for Phil to follow. Phil shuts the front door as quietly as he can behind him and follows the path Dan’s taking, zigzagging across steps and jumping some completely to avoid the annoying creaking of their Victorian floorboards. When they reach the top of the stairs, Dan opens his bedroom door and ushers Phil inside, clicking the door shut nearly silently behind them.

“So,” he says after a moment, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he watches Phil drink in his surroundings, gaze lingering on photographs and drawings and collectibles and so much stuff that Dan hates and wishes he’d hidden from prying eyes. It’s like he’s opening himself to Phil, and he doesn’t know if he likes that.

“You confuse me, you know,” Phil says suddenly, rounding on Dan. Dan lowers his gaze to the floor, not wanting to look at Phil as he utters his next words.

“I know,” he says, and even to himself he sounds more uncomfortable than ever. “I confuse myself.” And it’s true; he does. He’s so keen to die, yet he’s holding on far too tight to be able to let go.

“Why do you do it?” Phil demands hotly. “Why do you make me, then break me? Why do you get my hopes up then act like you don’t know me the next day? Dammit, I’d be able to deal with it if you either hated me or loved me, but you can’t seem to fucking decide, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.” He looks half-shocked at himself, like he’s trying to bite back the words but they keep rolling off his tongue, spilling from his lips and he can’t stop them, maybe doesn’t really want to.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. He doesn’t want Phil to like him, but he doesn’t want Phil to leave him. He doesn’t know what the fuck he wants from Phil, and he sure as _hell_ doesn’t know what Phil wants from him. He’s not fucking gay, for Christs’s sake, so why does it bother him so much that Phil might not want him, want to let his fingertips roam across his skin like Dan wants to for Phil?

“So why do it?” Phil asks. “Why can’t you make your mind up?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dan says. Because it’s not.

He shouldn’t like Phil. He’s not gay. He _isn’t,_ no matter what he’s done and continues to do with Jaime, or how his skin burns with desire every time Phil brushes up against him, or how girls just don’t do anything for him.

It’s just a phase. He’s not actually gay. He’d rather be asexual than gay.

“It could be, if you let it,” Phil says. Dan doesn’t look him in the eye, leaning against his windowsill and staring at the ground, because it _can’t_ be that easy and Dan’s not _letting anything_. He won’t, he shouldn’t, he can’t.

“I can’t, Phil,” he whispers. “There’s so much at stake. I can’t lose what I’ve built up. I can’t risk my reputation. I can’t…I don’t even know what I am, what you are, what _we_ are. I don’t know what’s going on. You confuse the hell out of me too.”

“Why?” Phil asks bitterly. “Am I the one playing games, tossing you aside whenever I get bored then roping you back in when I want a bit of fun? Am I the one treating you like a bitch at school and kissing you under the stars away from everyone else’s eyes?”

“No,” Dan says. “Emotionally. I’ve never…I don’t know. I’ve never been this invested in someone before, whether it’s because I want to punch you in the face or kiss you. I’ve never felt such passionate things towards someone, whether it’s hatred or…or…not hatred. I’ve never _cared_ about someone like I care about you. Fuck, Phil, what are you doing to me? I’m not even _gay_.”

“You kissed me,” Phil points out. “Three times.”

“ _I know_ ,” Dan says, pained. “You don’t fucking understand, Phil. You don’t know what it’s like, to be straight and sure of your life and have everything laid out for you and then some fucking emo kid show up and screw everything up. You don’t understand what it’s like to be so confused about everything in your fucking life, try and push away the thing that’s causing the confusion only to find that you _need_ that thing in your life because it’s causing more confusion and disturbances to be away from it. I’m not gay. I can’t be gay, and I’m- I’m not. I’m just not. But I want you. So what the _fuck_ does that mean?”

(He’s only half telling the truth. He wasn’t straight or sure of his life, because Jaime had fucked that up already.)

“It means you need to stop putting what other people want for you and what the world thinks is best before what makes you happy,” Phil says.

“I was happy!” Dan practically yells before covering his mouth, forgetting that his family is asleep and he has to be quiet unless he wants Leon to find out everything that’s been going on in his life. “I was fucking happy, before you came along.”

(That’s a half-lie, again. He was happ _ier_ , sure, but not happ _y_.)

“Well, sorry for screwing up your perfect fucking life,” Phil practically spits, eyes ablaze. Dan grits his teeth, clenching his fist on his thigh.

“And now I want to fucking kiss you, you bastard,” he whispers.

“I’m not stopping you,” Phil says, and Dan gazes at him for approximately three milliseconds before he’s launching himself across the room, knocking Phil backwards onto the bed and kissing him roughly as they tangle together. Dan breaks away, straddling Phil, to grin down at him, at his black hair falling into his fiery blue eyes, before moving his lips and tongue to Phil’s neck because _fuck_ Phil’s hot, and Dan wants to be the one to make him come undone. Phil groans lowly and Dan pulls back a little to press a finger to Phil’s lips, reminding him to be quiet.

(That would be the worst possible scene Leon could walk in on.)

Dan reattaches his lips to Phil’s neck, grinding against him as he does so because he’s fucking hard too and he needs some release. He can feel Phil getting hard under Dan’s touch, and he grins wickedly into the skin of Phil’s neck as he grinds harder, biting his tongue to hold back whimpers and moans and gasps of Phil’s name.

But then something changes.

“No,” Phil says, pushing Dan away, and he sounds scared in the most breathless and stupidly hot way. Dan nearly rolls off the bed, but Phil catches his wrist just in time and pulls him back so he’s on top of Phil, straddling him once again.

“No?” Dan asks, heart pounding. Does Phil not want him?

“Not like this,” Phil whispers, answering Dan’s silent afterthought. Dan bites his lip, considering, but then nods – he’s not going to be the dick who forces Phil to do stuff he doesn’t want to – and leans down to press his lips to Phil’s in a chaste kiss.

“Get some sleep,” Dan murmurs against Phil’s lips, because Phil’s probably not used to getting little sleep. Phil nods and Dan rolls off him, lying down next to him and turning his head to face Phil, both of them grinning shyly at each other.

And Dan’s heart is aching, because this is how he wants it to be. This is how he wants to fall asleep, this is how he wants to wake up, this is what he wants.

But he can’t fucking have it, and he’s not fucking chasing it.


	11. Chapter 11

**_2005_ **

Dan’s sitting on the bridge, swinging his legs happily over the side as he cranes his neck to look up at the sky. The waterfall’s pounding in front of him, water roaring and deafening him to any other sound in the world, but he doesn’t mind. This is how he likes it. He feels vulnerable yet safe at the same time, like the rushing of the waterfall and the glittering of the stars can protect him from anything that might happen.

He shouldn’t be out right now. Dad had told him  _specifically_  that he had to be in bed by nine, but Dan snuck out anyway, shimmying down the tree outside his room because – well, because he can. And because from his street he can’t see the stars, and he likes to go to sleep after seeing the stars because the stars are pretty.

He spots something out of the corner of his eye, something brighter than the rest of the white dots on the black velvet of the sky, and frowns, squinting and shading his eyes with his hands to try and get a better look. It seems to be moving, and it’s only when it dips beneath the canopy again that Dan realises it’s a shooting star. He tries not to yelp with excitement –he’s never seen a shooting star – and sits a little more forward on the bridge, waiting anxiously for it to emerge from under the canopy and streak across the largest bit of the open sky.

It’s mere moments before it does, white-hot yet glowing orange as it darts across the sky, illuminating everything in a beautiful glare of light. It’s almost like the orange glow of the streetlights that bathe Dan’s street in such a harsh, artificial light, but softer and natural. It makes Dan think for a moment, stop and consider it. Shooting stars are almost a metaphor in themselves, he thinks. A metaphor for life, maybe. There one minute, gone the next, burning beautifully and brightly during its lifespan, nothing but ugly ashes at the end. Something that inspires people, something that makes them stare at it in wonder. Because people are like that sometimes, Dan thinks, he’s often inspired by people. And he looks at some people like Leon, little Leon, and wonders how Leon can be such a beautifully bright person, radiating happiness and beaming with the kind of joy Dan’s never felt before. And then he’s scared, because what if one day Leon ends up like him? Dan’s only nine years old, but he’s already dull and numb and empty enough to know that it’s not normal. Leon can’t let his shooting star drop and burn to ashes as quickly as Dan has; Leon’s has got to keep streaking across the sky illuminating stars, just like Leon illuminates other peoples’ lives. Leon can’t end up like Dan. Leon’s loved, and Dan isn’t. Leon needs to  _stay_  loved, stay like that shooting star, because people  _do_  love shooting stars, but nobody likes the warped black rock left at the end.

Dan’s so caught up staring at it that he almost forgets to make a wish, and it’s nearly gone by the time he realises.

_Please, let me be loved._

_**2013** _

Dan wakes with a start the next morning, eyes flying open as he pulls himself away from that memory. He’s warm, warmer than he usually is unless Jaime’s there, and someone’s arm is slung over his chest…his heart sinks as he turns to face the person and sees a black fringe and porcelain skin. Phil.

He prises himself away from Phil’s sleeping figure and leaves the room, sneaking one throwaway glance at the tranquillity that is Phil before he clicks the door quietly shut behind him. He doesn’t want Phil to wake up next to him, have to confront him about what had happened because it’s wrong, it’s all wrong.

He doesn’t go to school that day. He doesn’t think he can face Chris and PJ, who’ll know something’s up, or Jaime, who definitely will, or see Phil hanging around with Vic. Not after last night, no. It’ll hurt too much.

Instead, he goes to the bridge, sitting on the edge and letting his legs dangle over the water as he chucks pebble after pebble into the roaring waterfall. It’s still pretty chilly because it’s early morning, and he shivers slightly as he picks up another stone, weighing it in his hand before hurling it at the rushing water.

“You’re getting better,” someone comments from behind him, and Dan closes his eyes momentarily. He doesn’t want to talk to Jaime, not now.

“Why are you here?” he asks after a moment, when Jaime swings his legs over the side of the bridge next to Dan.

“I know when something’s up,” Jaime says simply. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push for Dan to tell him, and Dan chucks a few more pebbles half-heartedly at the waterfall, missing every time and simply watching them drop to the river flowing below.

“D’you ever think maybe you were wrong?” he asks after a while.

“In what way?” Jaime says.

“Like, you think you know something about yourself but you don’t,” he says. “And you start doubting yourself and everything you thought you were because of one little thing that changes everything. And then you get scared because you don’t want it to change because it’s not safe and it makes you vulnerable, but at the same time you want it more than you’ve wanted anything in your life.”

“No,” Jaime admits quietly. “I can’t say I have.”

“Phil slept over last night,” Dan says after a moment. “We didn’t like- well, not really, I mean- well- yeah. Not properly.”

“You left him this morning?”

“Yeah,” Dan confesses in a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to face him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Jaime assures him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, even though he’s not sure whether he is or not. Everything seems a little whirlwind right now, half of him wanting something and the other half denying it to himself.

“Dan,” Jaime says. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t say you fucked a guy, keep kissing guys, and then claim to be straight. You haven’t kissed a girl in three years.”

“I know,” Dan says, sounding more wretched than he’d intended. “I just…I don’t know. It’s too…too big.”

“I know,” Jaime says gently, brushing his fingers along Dan’s forearm. “But it’s not doing you any favours with Phil, is it?”

“No,” Dan says quietly.

“I’m going to go to school,” Jaime tells him after a while, getting up and off the bridge. “I’ll have my phone, though, so call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay,” Dan agrees, but both of them know he has no intention of doing that. Jaime lingers a moment longer, sighing and wrapping his arms around Dan from behind for the briefest of moments, and then he’s gone, walking off in the direction of the road, and Dan’s alone again.

Sometimes he hates being alone. Sometimes he hates having the voices in his head always telling him he’s not good enough, never will be good enough, not anything anyone wants, nothing, nothing. Sometimes he hates not being able to be distracted by anything, hates how he can’t even gather the energy to get a blade, hates everything about himself. He hates being inside his own head which sucks, because he can’t get out of it.

Sometimes, though, he likes the loneliness. It feels like he’s punishing himself for being such a despicable human being, for being a bully, for being pathetic, for being everything that he happens to be. It feels like the voices in his head are the price he pays for being the person he is, the sickening thing that has the nerve to call itself human. It’s what he deserves, so he embraces it, lets the darkness grow and manifest and cause dull aches and pains all over his body, listens to the voices and lets them tear and whatever’s left of him.

He gazes across at the waterfall, eyes glazing over as his vision unfocuses, staring at the tiny droplets of water that are pelting down over the weathered rocks. It reminds him of the first time he’d come here, the first time he’d discovered this dilapidated bridge, stood on it and spread his arms, imagined what it would feel like to jump off and soar through the crisp air and barely feel the impact of his body on the water because he’d be dead already. And it made him feel safe, made him feel secure, because he then knew that if things ever got too much for him to take he’d have a way out, an escape route. It’s wrong, but it’s right for Dan, and that’s all that matters.

It’s gone evening by the time he decides his butt’s numb and he gets off the bridge, wincing slightly at the pins and needles in his foot as he starts off down the dirt track and then the roads that wind around, leading to home.

But it’s not really _home_ , is it? It’s just the house he lives in, his abode. Home is wherever _he_ wants, and he carries home around with him. Home is with Leon, with Jaime, not with his mum and dad and all the trouble that comes with them. Home is an abstract concept of safety that Dan’s got locked up inside him, making him able to make anywhere he pleases his home. And to him home is under the stars, on the bridge, by the waterfall. To him, home is with Phil.   
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He doesn’t know how or why or when he fell asleep, but he managed it somehow, and he wakes up at midday when a stupid bird decides the tree outside Dan’s window would be a wonderful place to serenade the entire neighbourhood. Dan slams the window shut, causing it to flutter away in fright, and doesn’t even care. He hopes the neighbour’s cat gets it.

His phone starts ringing two seconds later and Dan’s about to pick it up, scream at whoever it is to fuck off, when he notices it’s Chris. He groans before swiping the answer button – he’s going to be interrogated as to where he was yesterday.

“Where were you yesterday?” is how Chris greets him, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“What d’you want?” he asks.

“Wanna meet up?” he says. “I’m at PJ’s. We miss you.”

“Wow, way to sound like a girl,” Dan says. “I was gone for like, a day.”

“I need to be with you forever,” Chris says in so deadpan a tone Dan’s not entirely sure he’s joking. “Come on, you need to get out. Bet you spent all day moping at the bridge yesterday.” Dan scowls.

“So what if I did?” he says defensively.

“You’re such a little emo,” Chris says with a sigh. “Come on, just get over here. Oh, and pick PJ up some gum from the shop on the way.”

“Gum?” Dan asks suspiciously. “Why? I don’t want to come over if you’ve just been getting frisky.”

“Just get it,” Chris tells him, smirk evident in his voice. “See you soon.”

“Fuck you,” Dan replies, but he’s speaking to the flat beep of the hang-up tone. Prick.

He pulls on the first clothes he sees, not caring whether they’re dirty or not because Chris and PJ have seen him in all sorts to states, and leaves the house, shouting a quick goodbye to whoever happens to be inside it as he goes. He doubts Leon is, because he’s taken to hanging around with Vic and his cronies, which means he’s probably getting drunk. Which kind of sucks, since Dan had tried so hard to keep him away from all that, but Leon’s old enough to make his own choices now. And Dan suspects he’s been doing it in secret for a while anyway.

He jogs down the street and goes to the shop, searching for the most disgusting gum he can possibly find (Juicy Fruit, it’s _abhorrent_ ) and paying for it, thanking the cashier and turning around to leave – and coming face to face with Phil, who’s looking like he’s about to murder everyone in the vicinity.

Phil pushes past him and slams the Nurofen down on the counter, frightening the cashier into ringing it up for him without asking for proof of age, and Dan raises his eyebrows and saunters out of the shop, ready to talk to him outside.

“Someone’s angry,” he says in an amused tone when Phil pushes the door open and stomps past him out of the shop.

“Don’t try it,” Phil says warningly. His blue eyes are flashing already, daring Dan to say any more as he walks off. Dan follows.

“I wasn’t going to,” Dan says innocently, because he totally was. “I just wondered how my little brother’s doing, but that tells me all I need to know.” He nods at the box of Nurofen that Phi’s practically crushing by how hard he’s holding it. Phil’s eyes drop down to his hands and he relinquishes his grip a little, relaxing the rest of his tense muscles, and slowing his pace down enough for Dan to catch up with him.

“Sorry,” Phil says, breathing out a sigh to calm himself down. “Yeah. Leon’s shit at handing alcohol.”

“You guys are a bad influence,” Dan says, shaking his head. Phil snorts.

“As if _you_ never got him drunk before,” he says, and Dan remains silent. “Are you seriously telling me that you’ve never given Leon alcohol before? Come off it; he told me you go off drinking with Chris and PJ all the time.”

“I’ve never let him have a drop of alcohol,” Dan says calmly. “I don’t want him to end up like me.” Phil’s face immediately changes into a mask of guilt.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry, I didn’t realise.” Dan waves his apology away as they start down the road again.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he says dismissively. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions now. I’m not gonna deny him what he wants.” That doesn’t mean he thinks it’s okay, though. He’s terrified Leon’s going to end up like him, the meteorite at the end of the shooting star rather than the star still streaking across the sky.

They continue in silence for a while, drawing nearer and nearer to Phil’s house until they’re right outside. Phil turns to face Dan, biting his lip as he considers his next words.

“You can…y’know, join us,” he offers. Dan shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’d be welcome with your friends,” he says gently. Phil nods, masking the look of disappointment that crosses his face remarkably well. Dan tries to quash the butterflies that come hand-in-hand with that face – does that mean Phil actually _wanted_ him there?

“Okay,” he says, and makes to turn away, but Dan catches his wrist, spinning him back around to face Dan. Phil gazes at him in confusion for a few seconds and Dan tries, he really does, but it’s hard when Phil’s eyes are so wide and so blue and so innocent and so beautiful, and he has to kiss Phil, just a gentle, quick, chaste kiss.

“Bye,” he says.

“Bye,” Phil says, sounding slightly dazed. Dan’s face softens and he kisses Phil again, addicted to the feel of Phil’s soft lips against his own, before he walks back up the road in the direction of PJ’s house.

He’s so fucking screwed, but he doesn’t know whether he actually cares anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

Leon comes back home late on Sunday evening.

“Where’ve you been?” Dan hisses, although he knows perfectly well.

“Phil’s,” Leon says, not meeting Dan’s gaze.

“Getting drunk?” Dan asks. Leon says nothing. “Yeah, alright Leon. I raised you better than that.” Leon flinches at the words; _I raised you better than that_. Because much as anyone in the family denies it, it’s true. Dan practically reared Leon from his first baby steps. And he’s so fiercely protective over his younger brother; he’s never let him touch a drop of drink when Dan’s been nearby (although Dan has his suspicions about the times Dan’s _not_ nearby), never let him smoke _anything_ , never let him slack on his schoolwork and generally tried to mould him into being everything Dan isn’t. He wants Leon to have a decent chance at life.

“It’s my life,” Leon mumbles.

“I know,” Dan says quietly. “Which is why I’m so disappointed.” He doesn’t wait for Leon to reply – those words are punishment enough – simply turning on his heel and walking upstairs soundlessly. It’s barely a surprise when he finds Jaime lounging on his bed.

“Leon?” Jaime frowns. Dan nods, sighing and flopping down next to Jaime. “You shouldn’t be too hard on the boy.”

“I wasn’t,” Dan says. “He’s going to regret it when he’s older if he carries on.” Jaime raises an eyebrow.

“And you won’t?” he asks shrewdly, catching the hidden implication of the sentence. _I’m not going to live to regret it._

“Fuck off, Jaim,” Dan mutters, rolling over and pressing his face into a pillow.

He hates how well Jaime knows him, sometimes. He hates how Jaime knows what his words mean when even Dan doesn’t, hates how Jaime knows what every little movement Dan makes means, hates how he knows him inside out when Dan doesn’t even know himself. But at the same time he loves it, loves how Jaime knows him, because he loves Jaime. And whilst it’s no longer a sexual relationship (and neither of them want it to be), it’s definitely still some kind of relationship – a platonic relationship, maybe – because Jaime’s Dan’s lifeline, and you don’t just leave your lifeline hanging. Without Jaime, Dan would be dead, broken, lonely, wretched, wasted. He wouldn’t be as patched-up as he is now, and he can only thank Jaime for that.

“Hey, Jaim,” he says after a while, rolling back over. “I wrote a song, and I…I dunno, I really want Phil to hear it. But not from me. Can you…can you get Vic to do it?”

“As long as I say it’s mine, of course,” Jaime says. “Can I hear it?”

“Jaime,” Dan whines. “I hate singing, you know that.”

“Go on. I’ve heard you sing before.” Dan tuts and mutters something about lynching Jaime under his breath but fetches his guitar, tweaking it a little to get it in tune before beginning to play, opening his mouth to sing.

Once he’s done, Jaime sits up and pulls Dan closer towards him, kicking the guitar off the bed and tugging Dan’s left sleeve up in the process. Dan doesn’t bother stopping him; Jaime’ll see anyway.

“Dan,” Jaime says softly, in a hurt, broken voice, when he sees the newest stings lining his skin. “C’mere.” He reaches up to pull Dan down to his level by the nape of his neck but doesn’t kiss him, just rests their foreheads together.

“I might not love you in a romantic way anymore, but I still love you,” he says quietly. “And it still hurts me.”

“Sorry,” Dan whispers, and Jaime closes the gap between their lips in a comforting, slow kiss.   
-  
“Dan? Can I talk to you?” Dan grits his teeth as the familiar voice floats over to him, whirling around to face the smiling face it belongs to.

“Sure,” he says grudgingly. He can’t hate Mr Dowsett, after all, not after everything he’s done for Dan.

“How’s Phil’s piece getting along?”

“Why don’t you come and listen?” Dan asks.

“Because it doesn’t sound like you two do a lot of practicing. Well, you do, but not in music.” Dan’s face reddens as Mr Dowsett smirks.

“It needs a bit of refining,” Dan mumbles.

“Okay,” Mr Dowsett says agreeably. “Give him some tips, will you?”

“On what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mr Dowsett says. “Anything that seems relevant.” He leaves Dan standing in the middle of the corridor with a face of total confusion and outrage. What’s that supposed to mean?

He shakes himself out of it soon enough, ducking into the Music office to fetch himself a plectrum (which takes approximately twenty years to find), and when he comes out Phil and the Mexican posse are standing in the corridor, apparently debating whether Phil should listen to their Samba song or whatever.

“I’ll come listen to you guys soon,” Phil says as they begin filing into the practice room. “I’ve just got to check Dan isn’t in my practice room.”

“ _Your_ practice room?” Dan says silkily. The Mexican kids stop in the doorway of the practice room with wide eyes, wanting to watch the drama unfold.

“Yes,” Phil responds smoothly. “Mine.”

“At the very least, it’s _ours_ ,” Dan says.

“I don’t particularly want to share anything with you,” Phil says.

“That’s not what it seemed like when you kissed me yesterday,” Dan retorts, and Phil glowers at him as Fuentes Two exchanges a shocked look with Mexican-That-Isn’t-Fuentes-Two-Vic-Or-Jaime (Toby? Toenail? Either way, Dan doesn’t really give a shit).

“You kissed me too,” Phil says accusingly, but Dan just smiles graciously because he knows it will make Phil angry, and Phil’s fucking hot when he’s angry.

“Mr Dowsett suggested I give you some tips on this piece,” Dan says. “Since I’m an AS-Level student and you’re just GCSE.”

“Like fuck he did,” Phil growls, clenching his fists. “You just want an excuse to get me alone.”

“Who are you to deny me that?” Dan says. “You’re hardly a stranger to it, are you?”

“Not here,” Phil says, throwing a sideways glance at the two kids that aren’t Jaime and Vic, and just as Dan opens his mouth to respond Phil manhandles him down the corridor and into their practice room, slamming the door behind them and whirling around to face Dan, who’s smirking.

“Afraid your boyfriend’s going to get jealous?” Dan taunts.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Phil says through gritted teeth, fists balled.

“Yet,” Dan says overly-casually, examining his nails in what he knows is a frustrating nonchalant manner as he slides into a chair.

“If you’re getting any ideas-“ Dan’s laugh cuts him off.

“Oh, I’m not getting _ideas_ , Phil,” he says. “There are some things you just inherently know.”

“I am never going to date you, Dan,” Phil hisses. Dan’s stomach clenches.

“Okay,” Dan sing-songs in that accepting-yet disbelieving tone that pisses every single person in the universe off. Phil looks like he’s about to growl in Dan’s face.

(Dan’s not sure whether he’d mind.)

“I’m going to leave you here,” Phil says, “and when I come back, you’d better be either fucking gone or mute.”

“Off to see your boyfriend?” Dan asks with a smirk, and he can tell he’s gone too far because Phil storms up to him and _slaps him_ , once sharply across the face, his palm making a satisfying _smack_ sound against the skin of Dan’s cheek.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Phil spits, throwing one last look at Dan, who’s standing there shocked and taken aback, clutching his hand to his face as he watches Phil leave in wonder.

Fuck, he didn’t think Phil would actually _slap him_ , Christ. He had no idea he had that much power over Phil. And he’s not masochistic or anything (because that stings like a bitch) but it was kind of hot, pushing Phil to breaking point and watching him snap like that, fire and fury burning in his blue eyes, brighter than any flame Dan’s ever seen.

He suspects Phil’s gone off to the Mexican practice room, and his suspicions are proved correct when he hears some voices and then the first few chords to his song.

(Sometimes, he wonders what it would be like to waltz up to Vic and tell him it wasn’t Jaime who wrote those painful songs about what it’s like being imprisoned in his own mind.)

It sounds good, he has to admit, the way Vic sings the first line with such a rough voice, without abandon – _I laid down, I drank the poison then I passed the fuck out_ – and the way he sings the line Dan’s most worried about in a softer, more taunting voice – _Oh, what a waste of a perfectly good clean wrist_ – and the way he sings the line in the chorus Dan wants Phil to pay attention to – _Can we create something beautiful and destroy it?_ Much as Dan hates Vic, he loves his voice, loves his musical ability, and wishes it were his instead of some random dickhead’s.

(Then he remembers it’s him who’s the dickhead, and that’s why he doesn’t have the talent.)

There’s a lull after the song ends with Vic’s guitar riff over other instruments, and Dan can hear muffled voices. He can’t make out what they’re saying, though. The door clicks open after a while, though, and Dan jolts up out of his chair, wondering whether Phil’s coming back or not, before there’s a slight yelp and another door slams shut.

Dan wrenches his door open immediately, starting out of the corridor and seeing Jaime do the same from the Mexican practice room. They both follow the voices until they come to a halt outside the disused, rubble-filled practice room. Neither of them speak, but they share a frightened gaze that says _what the fuck_ , and _are they going to make out_ , and _fuck this_.

“…was stupid,” someone’s saying; by the nasal twang to the voice, it sounds like Vic.

“It wasn’t,” Phil’s voice says. “You…you understand why we…we can’t, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Vic says unhappily. “I…I dunno, I mean…I feel selfish, but…I don’t want you to be with Dan.” Dan closes his eyes, ignoring the way Jaime’s eyes flicker to him in concern. He should have known this was coming. Now Phil’s going to adhere by whatever Vic tells him to do and not to do, and- and Dan’s stupid for ever thinking he had a chance, even though he never thought that, not really, because he’s not _gay_. Fuck. He hates himself.

“I know,” Phil says, just as unhappily. “Jaime’s better for you, though, Vic.” Good. At least he got that message.

“Dan’s not better for you,” Vic insists. “He treats everyone like shit. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“He’s different,” Phil says. Dan’s heart stutters slightly. Is…is that Phil defending him?

“He didn’t seem different today,” Vic says, sounding slightly irked.

“He does that,” Phil sighs, and yeah, that’s _definitely_ Phil defending Dan. “Was the rest of the song about me as well?” he adds after a moment of silence. Vic doesn’t answer.

“We had something beautiful,” he begins.

“And we destroyed it,” Phil finishes for him. Dan chances a glance up at Jaime, seeing him ashen-faced, fists clenched.

“Go,” he mouths, and Jaime shakes his head stubbornly.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Phil says, startling both Jaime and Dan back to listening intently at the door.

“I don’t want to stop,” Vic whispers thickly, and Dan reaches out to grip the hand Jaime was stretching out to open the door. _No_.

“You know we have to,” Phil says heavily.

“I don’t want to stop kissing you,” Vic says. “I miss you.” Jaime makes a choked sound and Dan ducks under the window of the door to go and stand next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and letting him drop his head onto Dan’s chest.

“I know,” Phil says. “The more we do it, the harder it’ll be to stop, though.” He doesn’t say _me too_ , or add that he misses Vic too, which makes Dan feel even shittier; he’s got what he wants, when he doesn’t deserve it at all. It’s Jaime who deserves what he wants, for once.

“I know,” Vic says. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Phil says gently. “We just…we need to stop. Or be straight with them. Or both.” Vic sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “Once more, for luck?” There’s nothing but small, appreciative moans from both of them, and Dan knows with a sinking feeling that they’re kissing.

“Jaime, go,” he says lowly, and Jaime looks up at him with tear-stained cheeks and brimming eyes, and Dan can’t help but kiss him quickly (they’re as bad as each other), as Jaime scurries off in the direction of the toilet to clean himself up.

It’s a good few minutes before the door opens and Vic walks out, cheeks nearly as tear-stained as Jaime’s, starting slightly as he takes in Dan with cold fury in his eyes, and he hurries off to his practice room before Dan has the chance to confront him. Dan hears Phil take a deep breath inside the room and then he steps out, looking like he’s about to collapse. Dan winds his arms around Phil, and Phil breaks down in Dan’s arms, sobbing into Dan’s shoulder. He doesn’t bother asking who it is. Dan thinks Phil knows.

“You know you had to,” Dan whispers, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and holding him close to his body, keeping him safe, protected. “You know he’s better with Jaime. You know you’re better with me.” The words just slip out unintentionally, and Dan curses himself for letting them spill from his lips before he feels Phil nod.

He agrees. 


	13. Chapter 13

“You alright?” Chris asks the next day, his voice distant and worried. Dan doesn’t blink, doesn’t stop gazing out of the window at the group of boys gathered on the grass below.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks. Chris is silent for a moment.

“Why?” he asks.

“Just…have you?” Dan presses. There’s a pause, and Dan can imagine Chris pursing his lips whilst carefully selecting the words to string together as an answer.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Have you?”

“I don’t think so,” Dan says.

“Not even with Jaime?”

“Definitely not with Jaime.” That’s a half-lie. He is in love with Jaime, but not in _that_ way. Dan believes there’s a such thing as being platonically in love.

“I wonder what it’d feel like,” Dan murmurs after a moment. There’s a slight rustle, as if Chris has stretched himself out on the chair, and Dan imagines him raising his eyebrows before continuing.

“I think it probably feels different for everyone,” Chris says, “which is what makes it so difficult to tell when you’re in love.”

“Because what one person describes to you as the feeling of being in love might not be what you feel when you’re in love, so you doubt it and don’t let the relationship run the course it should and end up ruining it?” Dan suggests, ignoring the pang of nostalgia in his heart.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine, yeah,” Dan says distractedly, letting his eyes wander from black hair to brown. “Just wanted to know what you thought.”

He wonders how it feels for Jaime. He’s pretty sure Jaime’s in love with Vic, and it must be heart-wrenching enough to be in love at the young age of sixteen, let alone be in love with someone who doesn’t act like they love you back. It’s probably worse to be in love with someone who does love you back but doesn’t act like it than someone who flat out hates you; Dan knows he himself would find it easier to deal with the latter.

Then again, he’d be the one pushing everyone away, so maybe it doesn’t really count from his perspective.  
-  
Dan doesn’t want to talk to Leon.

He’s making his way over to the group to talk to Jaime, because he hasn’t spoken to him yet and wants to find out how he’s coping after yesterday’s events, but Leon puts a hand up to shield his eyes and then mutters something to Phil, who frowns and squints in the direction Leon’s looking. Leon says something else before getting to his feet, and Dan backtracks a little, making sure they won’t be overheard by the rest of the group.

“What the fuck have you done?” Leon exclaims angrily when he finally reaches Dan.

“Nothing!” Dan says defensively.

“Nothing? So why are three of my friends fucking dejected and quiet? The three that you _coincidentally_ happen to be involved with?”

“Wait,” Dan interrupts, “you think this is _my_ fault?”

“What else am I meant to think?” Leon says hotly. “They were fine all of yesterday and as soon as they spent even the tiniest amount of time with you they became all unhappy and now they won’t tell anyone what’s up – _what the fuck did you do?_ ”

“This isn’t my fault!” Dan hisses, trying to stop the anger bubbling through his veins. “I’m not- fucking- it’s not me who’s to blame!”

“Really?” Leon says, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms, eyes ablaze. Dan mirrors his actions, vaguely wondering whether the two Howell brothers look akin even in their anger. “So, what’s _your_ explanation then?”

“I can’t tell you,” Dan says.

“Oh, _that’s_ your master plan?” Leon says sarcastically. “Pretend it’s all a big secret and you can’t tell anyone? I know you, Dan. I’ve watched plenty of other people fall apart at your hands and turned a blind eye, but I’m not letting you do it to my friends. I can’t. So if you want to try and break them, you’re going to have to break me first.” He huffs out a breath after that, raising his chin defiantly to stare at Dan.

Dan’s suddenly taken back to childhood memories – Leon pulling on Dan’s sleeve and asking him shyly whether he’ll push him on the swings, Leon standing up for Dan on the subject of homosexuality to their parents even though he hadn’t a clue what it meant, Leon nodding enthusiastically and agreeing with him when he said he thought Tom Felton was hot even though he didn’t know who Tom Felton was, Leon standing aside and biting his lip and saying nothing as Dan hurt people-

“You’ve grown up, little brother,” Dan whispers, not intending for it to come out as a whisper. Leon’s features soften a little, his eyes lose the hard sheet of ice covering them, but he doesn’t relax his posture.

“Are you going to tell me or not?” Leon says, quieter than before.

“You’ll hate me if I do.”

“Dan, you’re my _brother_. I’ve let you do a lot of things, I’ve seen you do a lot of things – I doubt I could hate you.” Dan merely shrugs in response, and Leon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Tell me, or I’ll just assume what I thought before.”

“It’s really complicated,” Dan says. “And before you call bullshit, it seriously is.”

“I think I can take it,” Leon says coolly.

“Alright,” Dan says, suddenly riled by Leon’s icy exterior. “Jaime’s in love with Vic, but Vic started fucking around with Phil and I’m pretty much together with Phil.” The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them – they feel foreign yet familiar to his tongue.

The silence that hangs in the air between them is tense and horrible and Dan wishes he’d never said anything.

“You’re with Phil?” Leon’s voice is icy cold.

“ _That’s_ what you choose to pick up on?”

“Oh, I wonder why?” Leon says sarcastically. “Maybe because my fucking _brother_ is keeping shit like that from me? And Phil, who’s meant to be my friend? You’re dating one of my friends and _neither of you thought to tell me_?”

“It’s-“

“Complicated, yeah,” Leon says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I get it. Whatever. I don’t give a shit anymore. I’ll call Phil over.” He drops his arms to his side and throws Dan one last contemptuous look before marching back over to his group of friends, and Dan watches him leave with nothing but sadness and regret in him. Maybe, if he hadn’t been such a shit brother to Leon, he would have ended up different. He still wishes Leon had grown up without an older brother, without him. It would have been better that way.

He doesn’t even realise Phil’s making his way over until Phil opens his mouth to speak.

“What are you _doing_?” he hisses. “Leon’s fucking _pissed_ , man, what did you do?”

“Long story,” Dan says absent-mindedly. “Can I talk to you?”

“Couldn’t you have waited?” Phil moans, rolling his eyes. “Fuck, Dan, everyone thinks you’re here to beat me up.” Dan’s stomach drops.

“I just wanted to know you’re okay,” he says with a half-shy shrug, watching Phil’s eyes soften slightly.

“I’m fine,” Phil says, a little more gently. “You could have asked me that any time. Did you _have_ to come here now?”

“Well,” Dan says, slightly awkwardly. He hadn’t _actually_ come for Phil, but after Leon- “You’re with Vic, and Jaime, and I thought…”

“I’m fine,” Phil repeats. “I promise. I’ll see you later, alright? We have Music last, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, but he’s not paying attention to the conversation at hand, choosing instead to stare over Phil’s shoulder at Jaime in the distance. Phil glances backwards and sighs.

“Don’t start shit,” he warns. “They’re my friends.”

“Leon’s my _brother_ ,” Dan reminds him, thinking that status is a little higher than ‘friend’ when used correctly.

“Mike’s Vic’s,” Phil says, and Dan slides his gaze over to the taller of the two Fuentes’. “Come on, Dan.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, because Phil has completely misinterpreted that – thank God. “See you in Music.” Mind full of spiky-haired boys and brown-haired brothers, he turns his back on Phil and leaves.   
-  
Dan spends most of Music alone. He can hear the Mexican kids playing one of his older songs down the corridor (one that Vic’s decided to name ‘The First Punch’. Maybe because he’s too afraid to throw it, so he has to write about it), and he grins nostalgically, strumming the chords along with whoever plays the chords in their little band. When the door to his practice room clicks open, he immediately stops playing with an almost guilty expression on his face that swiftly morphs to one of surprise as he sees Phil walk in.

“Hello,” Dan says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tonight.”

“Tonight?” Phil frowns, confused.

“Yeah, you usually have an existential crisis at midnight every couple of days,” Dan says, grinning as if it’s easy, and Phil scowls at him, although there’s no heat behind it.

“Fuck you,” he growls playfully. Dan smirks.

“If you insist,” he says graciously, and Phil’s scowl deepens.

“I heard their song,” Dan says after a moment, casually, as if he’s just thinking about it. From the glint in Phil’s eye, though, he’d say they both know better.

“Like the lyrics, did you?” Phil says, folding his arms, and Dan smirks, barely holding back a laugh.

“Hell yeah,” he says. “It _is_ half of the fun to see you throw the first punch.”

“I did,” Phil points out. “Half of the fun is over.”

“Still got half of it left to enjoy then, right?” Dan says, setting his guitar aside and standing up, walking towards Phil and slipping an arm around his waist. Phil doesn’t try to stop him, even leans into his touch a little, and Dan wonders if it’d surprise Phil to find out that the hands that penned the lyrics he likes so much are the hands that hold him when he falls apart.

“Better make the most of it,” Phil mumbles, and Dan feels his own eyes light up as he grins before he leans down to kiss Phil. Phil kisses back right away, pressing himself against Dan as much as he can, and Dan feels like he’s going to explode and implode simultaneously. To have someone want him, fucking _want him_ as much as he wants them, to have Phil protected and secure and safe in his arms, to be able to kiss Phil and hug Phil, it’s better than anything he’s felt in years.

 _And it’s good enough to make me want to fall in love_.

He tries not to let the jolt that courses through his veins show when he pulls away from Phil, tries not to let Phil feel that he’s scared.

“I should go,” Phil says, eyes flicking to the clock. “See you later?” He sounds almost hopeful, and Dan smiles and nods, letting Phil kiss him one more time and watching him leave before he collapses on the floor, staring at the carpet.

He’s not in love with Phil. He can’t be, and he’s pretty damn sure he isn’t. And he doesn’t think he’s falling in love with Phil either. He’s not quite there yet.

But what he has with Phil, that’s good enough to make him _want_ to fall in love. It’s enough to make him want to give himself, all of himself, to Phil, without holding part of himself back or disguising himself or pretending to be something he isn’t, which is what he spends his life doing.

Is that love?

He doesn’t know. But he does know that he shouldn’t be wanting to fall for Phil, because falling in love equates to making yourself vulnerable. And vulnerability is the thing Dan hates most in a person; loves, because it makes them manipulatable, and hates because it’s _weak_ , it’s pathetic, it’s stupid, and so is falling in love.

He thinks of Jaime, the vulnerability, the shattered glass he’s become, and his blood runs cold at the idea of that happening to himself. 


	14. Chapter 14

It’s midnight when there’s a tentative tap on Dan’s door.

Dan rolls over, checks the time to make sure it won’t be his mum, and rolls back, before saying a quiet ‘come in’.

It’s Leon.

“What do you want?” Dan asks tiredly. He’s not in the mood. He hates being mad at Leon, hates it more when Leon’s mad at him, and doesn’t want to think about the situation any more than strictly necessary.

“I-“ Leon cuts himself off, biting his lip. He doesn’t know.

“Come here,” Dan sighs eventually, shifting along and creating a space on one side of the bed. Leon hesitates for a moment before walking over and sitting down stiffly, staring at Dan.

“I hate being mad at you,” Leon says quietly.

“I know,” Dan says. “I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

“I know.” The two sit in silence for a while, before Leon speaks again.

“I’m still pissed that none of you told me,” he says.

“I didn’t expect to be forgiven,” Dan says.

“Why _didn’t_ you tell me?” Leon asks. Dan sighs.

“Because it’s so complicated,” he says. “It’s difficult enough keeping the stuff between me and Jaime a secret, let alone hushing up me and Phil when Phil’s half-with Vic and Vic’s half-with Jaime. It’s _so_ confusing.”

“But I’d understand,” Leon says, a sullen tone leaking into his voice. “You _know_ I would. I’m your _brother_.”

“I _know_ , Ley,” Dan says. “I just-“

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Dan doesn’t reply. His silence is answer enough.

“What are you scared of?” Leon whispers. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You mess around with everyone. You have friends. What’s there to be scared of?” Dan opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out, and he finds himself holding his breath.

What _is_ he afraid of?

Becoming vulnerable. Becoming weak. Becoming a target. Becoming a victim.

“Falling in love,” Dan says uneasily.    
-  
“Ley!” Dan shouts up the stairs, jingling the keys in his hand. “Are you fucking coming, or not?”

“Coming!” Leon’s breathless voice is accompanied by stampeding footsteps on the stairs and a _‘Language, Dan!’_ from their mother in the kitchen. Dan ignores the latter.

“God, we’re gonna be so late,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, out.” Leon mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _fucking older brothers, respect your elders my arse_ but Dan ignores that too (he’s a fucking _saint_ ), opting instead to follow his brother out of the door.

His eyes wander automatically down the road to find Phil halfway down the road between his house and theirs, and he freezes, vaguely noting Leon doing the same.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“I need to talk to him,” Leon says. “Wait, here, yeah? Phil!” He doesn’t give Dan time to answer, just starts jogging up the street, and Dan almost throws his hands up in exasperation as he watches his little brother and Phil, hoping the tension between them is sorted soon. Hell, the tension between them _all_.

He doesn’t know how it’s ever going to work with Jaime, Vic, Phil and himself. Jaime and Dan have too much history to make Vic and Phil feel remotely comfortable, and Vic and Phil have that fucking ‘spark’ between them that won’t help Jaime or Dan.

Fuck. This is such a mess.

Dan throws a glance over at Leon and Phil, and notices Phil’s smiling, which must mean they’ve made up, and gets into the car before he can start staring at Phil and making himself out to be a total creep, and Leon and Phil join him seconds later.

Wonderful.

(And if he throws Phil a few sideways glances when Phil’s not looking it’s okay, because Phil throws a few back.)  
-  
“Alright?” Chris says when Dan walks in. “Feel like talking about pre-Communist Russia with me?”

“Fuck, no,” Dan laughs. “I left Russia behind at GCSE, man.”

“ _Why_ did I choose History?” Chris moans. “What _possessed_ me?”

“The fact that you failed most of your other GCSEs?” Dan offers.

“Shut up,” Chris glowers. “So did you.”

“Peej didn’t.”

“Peej is a genius.”

“No, he just works. Practice makes perfect!” Dan sits himself down with a flourish.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Chris notes. “Finally get laid?”

“Piss off,” Dan mutters, swatting at Chris, but he’s grinning. “Something like that.”

“Ew, gross,” Chris says, pulling a face. “Tell me _everything_.”   
-  
“Do you love him?” are the first four words out of Jaime’s mouth when he clambers through Dan’s window that night.

“What?” Dan splutters, ripping out his headphones although he hadn’t been listening to any music and had heard Jaime perfectly well the first time around.

“Do you love him?” Jaime repeats, looking at Dan with an almost calculating expression on his face.

“No!” Dan says.

“Are you sure?” Jaime asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“As sure as I am that you’re _out of your mind_ , what the fuck,” Dan says, glaring at Jaime as he settles himself down next to Dan. “What’s brought this on?”

“I talked to Phil,” Jaime says.

“What happened?” Dan’s less than willing to admit to the butterflies in his stomach, and bites down on the _does he love me?_ that’s threatening to spill out.

“Oh, not much,” Jaime says, waving it away. “He asked about me and Vic.”

“And?” Dan prompts. Jaime’s shy smile speaks volumes. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Jaime says, still smiling. “But anyway. Phil.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Phil.”

“He said you help him.”

“Help him?” Dan’s bewildered. “With what?”

“With, and I quote, ‘all the shit going on in his life’.” Dan’s heart skips a beat.

“And what did you say?” he asks. Jaime turns to him, eyes wide and earnest and twinkling with some kind of a mischievous love that only Jaime could pull off.

“I told him that maybe he can help you too.”   
-  
Dan goes out when Jaime leaves. He needs to be under the stars.

(He also kind of has a feeling that Phil might be there, and even if he isn’t, a night under the stars isn’t a night to lose.)

He’s right, of course, hearing someone crunch their way up the path behind where he’s sitting on the bridge and swing their legs over, staring with wonder-filled eyes up at the star-studded sky.

“Calming, isn’t it?” Dan says, and Dan watches the emotions change in Phil’s moonlit eyes as he realises it’s Dan. It’s hypnotising, to say the least, to watch the way someone else’s mind works. Dan loves it. “Jaime told me you spoke to him.”

“Since when are you friends with Jaime?” Phil demands. Dan smiles wryly, thinking about how much _more_ than friends they are.

“I wouldn’t say _friends_ ,” he says carefully. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” He can tell by the unsatisfied glint in Phil’s eyes that Phil thinks it does, but he doesn’t push it, doesn’t move his head from where it’s tilted, looking up at the stars and bathing him in silvery moonlight. Dan follows his gaze, lifting his head and looking up, focusing on the brightest star in the sky, the light ebbing and flowing like a wave as the atmosphere disrupts it. It’s almost as bright as the moon, he thinks.

“You know what else I love about the stars?” Dan says thoughtfully.

“There’s _more_?” Phil says sarcastically, and Dan swats at him playfully.

“Yeah, dickfuck,” he says. “Look at the moon.” He watches Phil’s blue eyes flit over to where the moon is, on the right hand side of the sky.

“I’m looking,” Phil says.

“How many other people do you think are looking at the moon right now?”

“Probably thousands,” Phil shrugs. “Why?”

“Right. There are thousands of us looking at the same thing, all connected through one common chunk of rock in outer space that’s shining down on us, illuminating half the world right now. Now look at the stars.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, eyes flitting back over at the glimmering dots in the jet-black sky. “What about them?”

“How many other people do you think are looking at the stars right now?”

“Probably thousands,” Phil repeats slowly. “Why?”

“Because every single person sees the stars differently. Every single one of us can see different stars, or is drawn to certain constellations, or doesn’t see the stars at all. Some people can see the stars, but aren’t looking at them – some people are looking at them, but can’t see them. Some people can see shooting stars. Some people can see stars we can’t. We can see stars some others can’t. Some people are only looking at the bright stars, ignoring the fainter ones in the distance. Some people are only looking at the fainter ones in the distance, not acknowledging the bright ones. And some people are simply staring at the moon, the close, safe, secure moon.”

“And some people,” Phil says. “Some people are looking at the streetlights.” Dan huffs out a laugh, but it’s a thoughtful one, not one ridiculing what Phil’s just said, because it’s _true_. Some people don’t _want_ to look at the stars. Some people don’t know that there _are_ stars. To little children of the city, to babies, infants, the streetlights are all they’ll know for years and years and years. Stars will be tales of mystery, of interest, of awe. Stars will be _precious_.

“Jaime told me you said that I help you,” Dan says after a few moments of silence. Phil scowls, half-hidden by the shadows of the trees, and Dan thinks he sees Phil’s cheeks darken a few shades, but can’t be sure. He bites his cheek to stop himself smirking.

“Twat,” Phil mutters.

“You help me too,” Dan says. “More than you realise.”

“Why?” Phil asks, before rethinking and rephrasing his question. “How?” Dan hesitates, not replying, because- well, because telling Phil will make him vulnerable, weak, a target, a victim.

His hand finds its own way to his pocket, fingering the piece of paper for the briefest of seconds before pulling it out and handing it to Phil.

“Here,” he says. _Fuck_.

“What’s this?” Phil asks.

“Read it,” Dan says, hoping the note of fear isn’t audible in his voice. Phil unfolds the note and holds it in as much moonlight as he can, squinting to make out the words scribbled hastily on the scrap of paper.

_This is my note.  
Goodbye._

“What is this?” Phil asks, eyes scanning the words over and over again, moving left to right, left to right, left to right, trying to make sense of the words. Dan can see the sheen of _there must be another explanation_ in his eyes, and it makes his heart ache.

“A suicide note,” Dan says. Phil inhales sharply. “The night I found you on the street and we went to the bridge together. I was planning to throw myself off it.”

“Jesus,” Phil whispers, staring at the piece of paper. His eyes aren’t moving anymore. “I’m glad you didn’t.

“I’m glad I didn’t, too,” Dan says, the words sounding bitter and rough in his mouth because they’re not entirely true. “It’s just a struggle being alive sometimes, y’know? But I’m starting to find things a little more…enjoyable.” It’s not the right word, but it’s as close as he’s going to get, and he shrugs to convey that to Phil.

“Please,” Phil says. “Don’t…don’t do it.” His eyes are glinting with fear, and he shifts slightly closer to Dan, almost protectively, as if realising that Dan could jump off _right now_.

“Here,” Dan says, taking the scrap of paper back off Phil, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the water, the paper arching gracefully through the air before plummeting into darkness even the moonlight can’t penetrate.

“I’ve thrown away the streetlights, and I’ve thrown away the moon,” Dan says, gazing into the darkness the paper has vanished into. He wishes he were in that darkness too. “All I’ve got left for me is the stars.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asks.

“It means I’m going to live.”

But it’s just a scrap of paper, after all.


	15. Chapter 15

Dan’s been up for all of ten minutes when he hears his mother shouting his name up the stairs.

“Dan!” she shouts. “There’s someone here to see you!”

“If it’s Chris or PJ, I’m not in!” Dan yells back, slightly narked.

“It’s Leon’s friend, the black-haired one,” his mother yells back up, and Dan’s eyes widen because shit, what’s Phil doing here at this time? He’s usually nursing all his friends’ hangovers at this time, soothing their headaches until they get hammered again.

Whatever, though. If Phil’s here, it must be important.

Dan wrenches his door open and stampedes downstairs, grinning at Phil when he sees him.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he says. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“It’s  _two in the afternoon_ ,” his mother says, sounding scandalised.

“Exactly,” Dan says. “Look, d’you wanna…go out somewhere?” He glances over at his mother so Phil can see –  _she’ll be checking up on us every three seconds otherwise_  – and Phil nods. Dan pulls a grey hoodie off the hooks by the door, chucking it at Phil before pulling another blue one off for himself, ushering Phil out of the door and closing it behind them.

“Sorry,” Dan says, shrugging his hoodie on and watching Phil do the same as they walk down the driveway. “She’s nosey.”

“Don’t worry,” Phil says. “My dad’s the same.”

“Is that what you want to talk about?” Dan says, and Phil huffs out a laugh. It’s humourless, though, sends some kind of horrible chill creeping down Dan’s spine.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” he says, and Dan understands.

“Alright,” Dan says easily as they turn absent-mindedly off into the dirt track that leads to the bridge. He knows Phil needs the calmness right now.

They stay silent until they reach the bridge, swinging their legs over easily and letting them dangle off the side. Dan can actually see the water, for once, and it’s really fucking far below them. It must be at least a hundred and fifty metres; the waterfall opposite them is cascading down into a foamy sea of white at the bottom, so it’s pretty fucking far. It’s absolutely beautiful, though.

“Why did you want to kill yourself?” Phil asks suddenly, and Dan’s startled into answering.

“I’m not sure,” he says after a beat. “I guess it’s just because it’s easier than living. It’s not that I particularly hate life – I can continue my life, continue living it, sure – I just find no joy in it. Everything takes ridiculous effort and I have to battle countless mental and physical obstacles to get the simplest of things done. It’s just not the way I want things to be.”

“And suicide would…be the solution?” Phil asks carefully. Dan sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says heavily. “No one can really tell us, can they? It would put me to rest, either way.” Phil doesn’t say anything else, and Dan lets the roar of the water tumbling down into the river below them swallow the silence.

“You know,” Dan says after a while, “I never really believed in happiness.”

“Why?” Phil asks.

“Because I’d never experienced it. How can you believe in something you’ve never experienced?”

“I don’t know,” says Phil, “there are plenty of religious people out there.” Dan shakes his head, but he’s grinning, and he can see Phil smile out of the corner of his eye.

“You know what I mean,” he says. “I never thought I’d actually be happy, or anywhere close to happy. But here, looking out at the water, sitting next to you…I’m content.” It takes so much courage to say it, so much more than Dan thinks Phil will ever know because _shit_ , he’s admitting so much in just a few words and Phil won’t even understand, won’t see what Dan really means by that.

And the little hitch of Phil’s lips is all Dan needs before they’re kissing, the roar of the waterfall drowning out anything else Dan wants to say.

(Like maybe, _I’m content but it’s still not enough._ )  
-  
It’s dusk by the time Dan and Phil leave the bridge, walking home side by side, hands brushing but neither of them brave enough to make the first move. Phil says goodbye to Dan outside his front door, but they don’t kiss – too wary of Dan’s mum – before setting off back to his house.

Jaime’s already in his room when Dan walks in.

“Good day out?” he asks, and he’s smirking.

“I hate you,” Dan tells him, falling onto his bed. When Jaime says nothing, clearly waiting for a reply, he sighs, and adds; “Yeah. Good day out.”

“Still didn’t get any, though,” Jaime says, sighing dramatically. “Woe is you, Dan.”

“Neither are you,” Dan snipes.

“I’m celibate,” Jaime tells him.

“Bullshit,” Dan scoffs. “I’ve had my dick inside you enough times.”Jaime bites his lip, and Dan swallows. It’s always dangerous bringing this up in their friendly banter.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jaime says, and Dan groans.

“I hate it when you do that,” he mutters. Jaime ignores him.

“I want to tell Vic,” he says.

“About us?” Dan asks, although there’s literally nothing else it could be in this context.

“Yeah.” Dan bites his lip.

“I don’t want to tell Phil,” he says. “Phil’s gonna get so mad at me.”

“Why?”

“Because I lied,” Dan says. “I told him he was the first who’d made me…question things.”

“Ouch,” Jaime says. “Did I really mean that little?” Dan rolls onto his side, gazes at Jaime who’s perched on the edge of his bed.

“No,” Dan says. “But I couldn’t tell him I’d been with you, could I? Imagine that. It would have fucked things up so badly.”

“Better sooner than later,” Jaime says.

“Speak for yourself,” Dan says, a little more spitefully than he’d intended. “Why tell Vic _now_ rather than six months ago?”

“Because _you_ wouldn’t have wanted it, and _you_ weren’t ready,” Jaime snaps back, and it’s colder than Dan expected. “ _I_ would have told Vic, if it weren’t for you.”

“Stop making it out like it’s all my fault,” Dan says hotly. Jaime laughs humourlessly.

“It is,” he says. “If I fuck things up with Vic because I didn’t tell him beforehand, it’s only because of you. It’s because _I_ care about how _you_ feel. Maybe you should try caring about other people someday, Dan. Then you’ll be in a position to have an opinion on this matter.” He gets up and walks over to the window wordlessly, slipping out without a sound and shimmying down the tree. Dan hears the thump of his feet landing on the soft grass outside, and then it’s silent.

And fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

He doesn’t want to tell Phil. Phil’s going to hate him, but the decision’s basically whether he’d rather have Phil hate him or Jaime hate him. And that’s a clear choice.

And it hurts because Jaime thinks Dan doesn’t care about him when he _does_ , he does he does he does. He loves Jaime, adores him, and if Jaime wants him to tell Phil so that Jaime can tell Vic then Dan kind of- he should. Jaime’s right – it’s not going to get any easier the longer Dan waits, and Phil’s not going to get any less mad. And it _is_ his fault, really, much as he hates to accept it, because _he’s_ the fuck-up who can’t accept that maybe he likes dick instead of vagina.

It makes him feel queasy, thinking about how Jaime’s mad at him, thinking about the things Jaime said, thinking about how he’s got to tell Phil.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out, swallowing thickly when he reads Jaime’s name on the screen.

_im sorry_

Dan swallows again, heart racing, and types a reply.

_me too_

To anyone else, it might seem like a normal conversation, but to Dan and Jaime, it’s _I’m sorry I said what I said, I’m sorry I did what I did, I’m sorry for the past two years and all I’ve done and all I’ve said and all I’ve been to you_.

Dan throws on his grey hoodie and slips out of his window too, shimmying down the tree and possibly getting a splinter ( _ow_ ) and ambling down the road. He looks casual although he feels anything but, but when he approaches Phil’s house he sees no light from Phil’s room. There’s no _way_ Phil would be asleep this early, so he must be somewhere else.

Vic’s.

He knows where Vic lives, due to having to pick up a drunken Jaime from Vic’s back garden more than once, so he turns around and makes a beeline for the bridge, wishing it were his destination instead of Vic’s house. It’s not far, so he gets there in five minutes, and spends at least another five hovering outside, wondering whether it’s too late to back out, whether he can talk Jaime into not being mad at him.

He’s such a fucking coward, and he hates himself for it. He’s going to do this, because it’s what Jaime wants. He’s going to put someone else first for once.

He picks up a stone and throws it at a window. It falls with a clatter, and Dan waits a few tentative moments but nobody comes to the window, so Dan tries another. And another. And another. It’s the fifth window that opens, a bleary-eyed Phil peering out, down, onto the street.

“ _Dan_?” he says incredulously.

“Shh!” Dan hisses, looking around him warily, even though he’s the one who’s been chucking rocks at windows and expecting nobody to notice. “Come down.”

“It’s like-“

“Three thirty-four a.m., dickhead,” Dan says, hoping Phil can’t hear the tremor in his voice.“Get down here.” Phil flips him off, but he shuts the window and a minute later the door’s clicking open and Phil’s walking out.

“Couldn’t this have waited?” he says, shivering in the cold as he approaches Dan.

“Probably, but then again, probably not,” Dan says. “I need to tell you something.”

“It could probably have waited, then,” Phil mutters, but he follows Dan out of the driveway and onto the pavement.

“I guess you spoke to Vic about Jaime?” Phil nods, looking confused, and Dan hopes he goes blind in the next two minutes so he doesn’t have to see Phil’s face contort with anger.

“Vic’s pretty much in love with Jaim, right?” Phil frowns, probably at the use of Jaime’s nickname, but nods again.

“Why?” he says. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No, but I bet Vic’s about to,” Dan says. Phil doesn’t answer, and he sighs. “Correct.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Does it affect you?”

“No, but what I’m about to tell you might…affect things,” Dan says, and he thinks he might be sick. By the looks of things, Phil feels the same.

“Go on,” he says. Dan takes a deep breath, not looking at Phil. He’s going to die. He wishes he could die.

“Jaime’s my ex-boyfriend,” he says in a rush.

“Sorry, what?” Phil says, and Dan winces because he doesn’t want to say that again, not to Phil.

“Jaime’s my ex,” Dan repeats. He can feel how pale he is, has his hands in his pockets so Phil can’t see them shaking. “I…we dated, for a while.”

“You told me you were straight, until me,” Phil says. “You told me you were sure of your life.”

“I lied,” Dan says quietly. “I was…well, in denial, I guess.” He sounds pained even to his own ears, because he lied, he lied, _he lied_.

“You lied to me,” Phil repeats. “Jaime lied to Vic.”

“No, it wasn’t like tha-“

“You both lied to us,” Phil ploughs on, voice rising as he continues. “I thought Jaime loved Vic.”

“He does!” Dan says.

“So that’s why you still talk to Jaime,” Phil says. “Because you-“

“We’re not together anymo-“

“But you still lo-“

“I don’t love Jaime, not like that, Jesus Chri-“

“ _You lied to me_!” Phil yells. Dan lapses abruptly into silence.

“Are you going to tell Vic?” he asks quietly. Phil considers it.

“No,” he says. “I think that’s for Jaime to tell him.”

“Okay,” Dan says, subdued. “I’ll- I’ll go now.” And he turns his back on Phil, walking away with shaking hands and a pounding heart and a pounding head and trembling legs and God, he wishes the darkness were alive and could swallow him.

He can feel Phil’s eyes on him right until he walks past the last streetlight, and then he collapses to the floor and lets the horrible, exhausted, drained feeling wash over him.


End file.
